The Odyssey
by love.devil.movies.baby
Summary: "Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story of that man skilled in all ways of contending, the wanderer, harried for years on end" Separated by cruel fate, Rick and Michonne begin their journey back to one another. A Richonne romance set after the time jump and based on Homer's epic.
1. Book I

**A/N: This is what happens when I get in my feelings and start talking classic literature parallels with other Richonne shippers. I present to you, my epilogue to Rick's last episode, based entirely around Homer's The Odyssey.**

 **Thanks to msdoomandgloom and cranesinthesky for the inspiration. Please let me know if you'd be interested in me continuing. Thank you!**

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 _Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns driven time and again off course, once he had plundered the hallowed heights of Troy. Many cities of men he saw and learned their minds, many pains he suffered, heartsick on the open sea, fighting to save his life and bring his comrades home._

 _By now, all the survivors, all who avoided headlong death were safe at home, escaped the wars and waves._

 _But one man alone…_

 _His heart set on his wife and his return—_

He dreamed about them, every one of them, but her most of all. It was enough some days to strengthen him, to keep him sane, to keep him moving, breathing, _fighting_. Even the echo of her- pale though it was in comparison to all of her perfections and imperfections, all of her beauty and rough edges—bolstered him considerably.

Home was far, thousands of miles away, perhaps an ocean away or more, he was not sure. He never saw much of the world outside this one, seldom glimpsed any road in or out. What he did know was that walls were high, the cameras ever-watching, the waves ever-beating upon the stone pillars that held him in. Supplies came by boat, as did the others, men and women. Some lasted months, some days, but none lasted as long as he did. Each time the gate opened, he strained for a glimpse, some sign that home was not so far as he thought. But he saw only sand, trees, jagged rocks, and the faces of his captors.

"Rick Grimes," she came to him, as was her habit, her voice calm and measured. "Still sulking today?"

Without turning, Rick knew that she smiled, as though this all was amusing to her. Perhaps it was. He turned his eyes on her, barely deigning to glance her way before he refocused on the walls in front of him. They were a smooth as the river stones that had littered the bottom of the pond near his childhood home in Kings County. He moved his mind quickly away from the memory. That time had long since passed.

"You know," she stepped closer to him. Rick heard her footsteps as they trod the familiar path towards him. "You could be happy here."

Rick remained silent. He'd exhausted his argument long ago. It did not deter her.

"There's food," she stepped yet closer, "safety, beds," she stood just behind him now. "Companionship," she said.

Rick turned his head towards her, squinting through narrowed eyes. "Companionship, I have," he reminded her.

She shook her head, dark hair bouncing as she smiled. "She thinks you're dead."

The argument pained him as acutely as the familiar agony of metal twisting through his body. He swallowed, calming himself, willing himself to hide it from her.

"Ah," she nodded thoughtfully. "You love her still." She came beside him, smirking in the way she had for years. "Do you imagine that she still loves you?"

He did not have to imagine it. He felt it as surely as the salty breeze on his face, the heat of the sun on his skin, the ache in his heart.

"I could love you," she reminded him. "And perhaps in time—" she laid a hand on his shoulder.

Rick pulled away, putting space between them. "Are you done?" he asked, unable to bear anymore for the day.

She scoffed but did not reach for him again. Not this time. "I am. Enjoy your day, Rick." Her voice betrayed her annoyance at yet another rejection. Some days, he amused her. It seemed today that she felt more negatively.

"And you, Anne." Rick turned his head away, staring back at the wall.

She left him there, retreating into the sanctuary of the building behind him, the building she begged him to call home. But home was out there, somewhere far, somewhere out of reach.

Rick waited until he was alone before letting his tears fall.

-l-l-l-l-

By anyone's best estimate, autumn was well underway. Alexandria shone in the fall, resplendent in its cloak of bronze, auburn, and gold. The high-roofed hall, constructed just a few years prior, stood at the ready for its guests. The long table inside was set, groaning under the weight of scavenged plates and utensils. Wine had been poured; it sparkled inside rounded glasses, dark and crimson. A few had already sneaked sips, discretely dipping their heads to indulge as they chatted. The low hum of voices filled the hall, soothing and constant.

The chatter ceased when she entered.

Over a hundred pairs of eyes moved at once to the dark woman at the entrance. Their heads turned in unison as Michonne walked past them, head high, sword at her back, dress rippling. She was every inch the warrior queen she had become revered to be, the stone upon with their enemies broke themselves.

Beside her, her daughter kept pace, a pale companion to her ebon guardian. Traipsing at the girl's side was a young boy, not quite 6 years old. His skin was like his mother's, dark and lovely. His face favored his father's.

At the head of the table, Maggie stood, reaching for her old friend, her expression serious. Michonne took her hand, whispering quietly, exchanging a grief only the pair of them could ever understand. Maggie escorted her to the place of honor, the head of the table, where two empty chairs stood. Michonne lowered herself gracefully into one, ensuring that her children flanked her before turning to her guests.

Residents of fair Alexandria, guests hailing from the Kingdom, from the Hilltop, from Oceanside, from the Sanctuary and beyond pressed forward, anxious for the sound of her voice.

Michonne parted her lips, speaking in her calm cadence. "Today, we honor those who have died, those who we have gained, and those who we have lost." She swallowed, reaching for her wine glass. With a flourish, she raised it. As one, her guests echoed her movements. "To the dead," she saluted. "To the living, and to a future."

United, they drank.

The revelry began in earnest, the time honored tradition of feasting and wine, of good company and laughter. The leaders of each community partook in full, leading the celebrations, ensuring that the peace continued.

Michonne, for her part, kept her eyes on her children. The boy, young still and unblemished by this world, played happily with Maggie's son, running and crawling between the guests, their giggles drawing even more amusement from the adults around them.

Judith, though a child, watched from her place, smiling at those who engaged her. Dutifully, she lingered by Michonne's side, her hand resting gently on her mother's.

All the while, the chair beside them remained empty.

"Fair Michonne," the King Ezekiel made his way towards her, bowing as he came.

Michonne nodded at him, gracing him with a smile, standing to greet him. "Ezekiel," she hugged him warmly, then his wife, squeezing Carol once for good measure.

"A wonderful feast, as usual," he complimented. "Your Aaron has grown most adept in wine-making."

Michonne mustered another smile, taking a moment to watch the communities mingle. Her heart began to ache, a familiar sensation. She swallowed the feeling.

Carol's sharp eyes did not miss it. "It's not the same without him," she said simply.

"No," Michonne answered. "It is not."

King Ezekiel nodded solemnly. "And yet, his dream lives on in you. In your children."

Michonne nodded once more, her vision blurring. Carol reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze before moving on, her own husband in tow. Michonne took her seat once more, determined to clear her plate, to drink her wine, and then return to her bed.

It was hours before she could retire. Their bedroom was dark, the candles flickering, throwing shadows against the wall. Michonne retrieved another blanket, pulling it over her body until the weight atop her felt almost suffocating.

It was of little use. The bed was always too cold now.

The tears fell as the candles burned away, the flames drowning in pools of wax. Michonne fell into a fitful rest, her hand on her necklace, her finger looped lightly into the heavy gold ring she now wore.

"Goodnight, Rick," she whispered into the darkness around, resting her head on what was once his side. "I love you."

From far away, some place unknown, Michonne imagined she could hear his voice.

 _"I love you too."_


	2. Book II

**A/N: Thank you for the incredible response! I'm floored by all of your kind words. I hope you enjoy chapter 2!**

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Judith sat perched at the foot of the bed, dutifully holding still as Michonne fussed with her hair. The silken strands, so unlike Michonne's, never seemed to hold their shape, slipping from any braid that Michonne endeavored to place them in. So focused was she on securing her daughter's hair in place that she nearly did not hear Judith's words.

"I saw Daddy last night."

Michonne's fingers stumbled, the hair tumbling from between them to come to rest on Judith's shoulders. She took a deep, slow breath, calming the sudden trembling in her stomach.

"What do you mean?" Her tone was sugary sweet, the voice reserved exclusively for her children now.

"While I was sleeping," Judith shrugged, fiddling with the hat in her lap.

"A dream?" Michonne clarified, lowering herself to sit beside her daughter.

Judith shook her head, meeting Michonne's eyes. Michonne studied her face, her mind recalling the photo she had seen once of her daughter's mother, years ago. "It wasn't a dream. At least, I don't think it was. It felt different."

"Tell me," Michonne patted the space beside her. Judith happily slid into the spot, leaning against her side.

"Carl visits me sometimes," she whispered.

Michonne's heart clenched, the old wound opening again, raw and painful. "He does?" she asked.

"He always has. Since I was little. He's been coming more now, though." Judith nodded.

"What does he say?"

"We just talk mostly. But last night, he took me to see Daddy."

The tears did come then, hot and thick. Michonne turned her face before her daughter could see them. Judith was not fooled. She reached for her mother's hand, squeezing it tightly.

"Daddy is alone somewhere. Somewhere by the sea," she said. "He wants to come home."

"The sea?" Michonne questioned through her tears. She had seen it as well, the cobalt gray waves beating against Rick's prison, the high walls that kept him from her. She saw it most nights, saw her lover in the sand, always staring, always waiting, always longing for her as she longed for him.

"Carl says its time soon," Judith said..

"Time for what?" Michonne wiped her face, staring at her daughter in amazement.

"Time for Daddy to come home," Judith smiled.

-l-l-l-l-

There were ships, not but a few yards beyond the wall. Rick recognized the creaking of the hulls, the sound of the sails being whipped by the wind. The wood groaned beneath the weight of the workers unloading it. Years ago, the helicopters had delivered what was needed, but now salvation came by way of the water.

In a life before this one, Rick had enjoyed sailing. Aboard a small fishing vessel with his father and brother, he'd learned to navigate the lakes of Georgia, had even ventured to the Gulf a summer or two. He'd almost forgotten it. The threat of death, of starvation, of war, had pushed it from his mind. He'd always meant to take Carl sailing one day, and Judith. But now—

Rick choked, clearing his throat. He sat in the warmth of the sand, burying his feet in the heat of it. At times, it was almost enough, the comfort of the earth, almost enough to placate him. But even the smooth grains of sand, the smell of the sea, and the ocean breeze could not compare to softness of the cotton sheets of their bed, the feel of Michonne's skin, and the taste of her lips as she kissed him awake.

He lay down beneath the sun, as he often did, willing his mind home, back to her. Salty air dissolved and filled instead with the scent of pine, the beating of the waves fading into the crunch of leaves beneath his boots. His prison transformed into fair Alexandria, stone walls melting into the metal ones that kept his family safe.

And she was there, smiling at him under the autumn sun.

"Rick," she greeted, as though he'd only been gone for a run, as though she expected him.

"Michonne," he reached for her. She took his hand, drawing him in. "You're wearing my shirt," he observed on a laugh, rubbing the denim between his forefinger and thumb.

"You aren't using it," she teased. She reached for his face, cupping his cheek, dragging her fingers through the coarse hair of his beard. "Where have you been?" she asked quietly,

He kissed her palm, holding her to him, reveling in the feel of her, long removed but not forgotten. "Lost," he kissed her again, then her forehead. "I've been lost, Michonne."

She held him in earnest, burying her face in his chest, tightening her arms around his neck. "Come home, Rick," she whispered. "Come home."

"Rick Grimes!" his name lashed over him like a whip, yanking him from the comfort of his love's arms and back to the prison. Wearily, he blinked himself back awake to be met with the face of his captor, standing above him.

"Anne," he greeted, sitting up, pulling his body away from hers.

"No more sulking now," she instructed, reaching for him. "The time has come to celebrate."

"What are we celebrating?" he asked, squinting up at her, refusing to take her hand.

"The end," she smiled.

-l-l-l-l-

"I thought they were only dreams," Michonne lamented.

From her side, Maggie regarded her. The world beyond Alexandria was quiet. The walkers came few and far between now. The air around them had begun to frost, the first tendrils of winter making an early appearance.

"Maybe they were," Maggie nodded thoughtfully. "But why should that mean they aren't real?"

"I wanted to believe so badly," Michonne shook her head, gripping her sword tightly between her fingers. "So badly, that he was still here. Every night for six years I've seen him. I thought it was just my mind showing me what my heart longed for. But Judith—"

"Did you know I see Glenn?" Maggie asked, pausing. "Right from the beginning, he's been there. Daddy too. And Beth. But Glenn most of all."

"In dreams?"

"And beyond," Maggie shrugged. "Junior never met his daddy. Never got to feel him holding him, hear his laugh, know his kindness." She wiped at her face. "But he sees him too. It's like Glenn ain't really gone. Just…hidden."

"We never found Rick's body," Michonne's mind raced, a wave of thoughts she'd scarcely allowed herself to consider in over half a decade. "There was no sign of him. He might not be hidden. He might be lost."

Maggie nodded. "Stranger things have happened in this new world."

"If he's lost…" Michonne looked around, as though she could conjure him by thought alone. "I need to find him."

Maggie smiled, releasing a laugh. "Knowing Rick, if he's lost, he's already on his way to you."

Michonne barely heard her. Her head was filling with schemes to return her lover to her side.

"Michonne," Maggie called to her. "Think of Alexandria. Your children. Rick needs a world to come home to. And Alexandria needs you to keep her straight."

The reality of it hit her like ice cold water. For the second time that morning, Michonne began to cry. Maggie embraced her at once.

"Be patient," she whispered. "See what those dreams tell you."

Beyond the walls and eyes of her community, Michonne continued to weep.

-l-l-l-l-

The wine set heavily on Rick's tongue, though not nearly so much as his companions'. Rich food and liquor had rendered them foolish. They slumped in great groups inside of the complex, giggling themselves into a stupor.

Groggily, Rick began to stir, pushing her head from his shoulder. She slumped over, mumbling as she went down in the sand, but did not wake. He had endured her company tonight, laughed and smiled as though nothing was amiss. After three glasses of wine, she had been fooled.

He crept away from her, leaving the remnants of the alcohol where she lay, picking his way through the throng until he could reach the wall. From beyond, he could hear the boats, still bobbing, their hulls brushing one another. He pressed his palm flat against the stone, searching for a way over.

"Dad," the voice called to him. Rick would have recognized it anywhere. Expectantly, he turned, searching for him. His eyes located him in the distance, near the doors to the prison.

"Carl," Rick called his son's name, rushing for him on unsteady feet.

"You did good, dad," Carl smiled. In death, his son was whole again, strong, young, unblemished by this world. "Drink this," he offered a glass.

Rick took a deep draw, the cool water inside calming his swirling mind. "Carl, I—"

"We've got plenty of time to catch up, dad," Carl looked amused. "But now, we've got to go."

"There's no way out," Rick protested, even as he followed. He'd tried everything in the last six years, every conceivable path.

Carl rolled both of his eyes, guiding them both through narrow halls and to the front door. He laid a translucent palm against it. It opened with no resistance. Rick stared in amazement.

"Carl—" he began again.

"I'll explain later. Now, you need to run." Carl gestured.

"The boats?" Rick already began to pick up speed, his heart racing.

"The boats," Carl easily kept pace, looking as though he was simply strolling along beside him.

Rick ran until he was breathless, down the beach, away from the walls. It was a moonless night, dark and eerie. Carl led him, pointing him aboard the smallest craft. They shoved off, bobbing through the water, Rick paddling until his arms burned and his back ached. It was not until the prison was only a faint blur in the distance that he turned to his son.

"Where are we?" he breathed, sucking in deep gasps of the free air.

"We're going home," Carl answered, grinning lopsidedly. "They're all waiting for you."


	3. Book III

**A/N: Thank you for the amazing and encouraging feedback! I very much appreciate it! I'm enjoying writing it, and especially looking forward to the journey getting under way.**

 **without further ado, enjoy!**

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"some things you will think of yourself,...some things God will put into your mind"

 _-Homer_

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 _Rick trembled as Michonne's hands went to work, plucking at the buttons of his blue denim shirt. Her mouth chased every exposed inch of skin as she revealed it, pushing the fabric from his shoulders. The feeling of her lips on him, her tongue, it left Rick spinning. How long had he dreamed of this very thing? Was it weeks, months, nearly a year? Was it the moment she stumbled to that chain link fence, her dark deep eyes staring at him? It didn't seem to matter anymore. Thought had melted completely away the moment his hand had touched hers on that couch. All that was left now was feeling._

 _A groan fell from his lips, rising deep from somewhere in his chest. She glanced up at him, her smile impish, full of mischief._

 _"Rick?" this tone was new to him, soft and sweet and vulnerable, laced with a lust he'd only imagined he'd coax out of her one day._

 _In answer, he drew her to him, shaking off his shirt before dragging hers over her head. He meant to go slow, truly, but before he knew it, he had her naked on the bed, sprawled out beneath him. The world faded away, shrinking down to the bedroom, the mattress, her body. He laved over every bit of her he could reach, working her over with his hands, his mouth, and his words. His senses were filled with her, the taste, the smell, and her moans ringing in his ears._

 _The woman he loved clutched at him, whispered things that sent him spiraling, rolled her hips against his until he could not stand another moment. He parted her legs almost reverently, bent his body over hers, and finally, finally, made her his._

 _"Rick," his name took another tone now, throaty and desperate. She buried her face in his shoulder, holding on for dear life, her body tightening around him._

 _He pulled her into his arms, catching her around the hips, hiking her legs higher around his waist. "I've got you, love," he promised, kissing her for good measure. "I've got you, Michonne."_

"Dad."

Rick blinked himself awake, squinting in the bright sunlight above him. It was high noon, the sun straight up, the glare blinding on the waves around him. He turned his head, seeking relief, and was met with the sight of his son.

"Carl," he smiled at him, his mind sleepily shifting gears.

"Dad," Carl looked mildly disgusted. "As much as I'm glad that you're in love with Michonne, could you try not to think about her that way when I'm around?"

"Can you see my dreams?" Rick sat up, shaking his head. The thought was concerning. Six years had done nothing to cool his passion for Michonne, nor had his dreams of her become any less frequent.

"No," Carl made a face akin to eating something sour. Rick's instant relief was short-lived. "But I can hear you moaning."

Rick blushed, busying himself by stretching out, trying to adjust his pants without Carl seeing. Carl groaned. "Sorry, son," Rick shuffled until he was sitting up. His skin was already beginning to burn beneath the unforgiving sun and he found he was almost unbearably thirsty. Chancing a glance at his surroundings, he could see only the endless wine-dark sea, its waves beating rhythmically against the boat. A faint wind blew, stirring the tied sails against the mast.

"Whatever," Carl perched on the edge of their boat, dipping his bare feet into the ocean. Rick watched the water lick up his legs, wondering whether his son was something physical, or another figment of his broken mind. Carl spoke again. "She dreams about you too, you know. And Judith."

"You visit them?" Rick's heart clenched. His daughter would be ten now, as old as Carl was when this had all begun. He wondered what she looked like, whether she favored her mother or Rick's old friend, whether they visited Judith along with Carl.

"Judith all the time. She doesn't think it's weird when she sees me. But I think it breaks Michonne's heart when I'm around." Carl raised his brows, his expression mirroring one that Rick was familiar with on his own face. "Judith doesn't know mom or Shane," Carl added, seemingly reading his father's thoughts.

"Do you see them?" Rick asked.

"Sometimes," Carl left it at that.

"Michonne, Judith…how are they? Are they—" Rick's throat tightened.

"They're alive. They're doing good. Mom—Michonne. She misses you. Thinks about you all the time. Wears your clothes even." Carl recounted.

Tears pressed hard behind Rick's eyes. "She's leading?"

"Of course," Carl nodded proudly. "Judith's shaping up to be a pretty good leader too."

Rick smiled, the gesture so unfamiliar that it took a moment to coax the muscles of his face into it. "Those are my girls," his mind conjured pictures of him, mornings in bed with them by his side, the sounds of their voices.

"Dad," Carl's voice drew him again to reality. Rick turned his attention to him. Carl's face was creased in worry.

"What is it?" a knot formed in the pit of Rick's stomach.

"There's something else you should know, dad." Carl took a deep breath.

Around them, the sea swirled.

-l-l-l-l-

"Mama!" he burst into the room on socked feet, sliding against the hardwood floors.

Michonne opened her mouth to admonish him for running in the house, but soon shut it when she saw his face. "What is it, baby?"

"There's something in the sky!" he bounced on the balls of his feet, barely containing his joy. Michonne stood at once, leaving her work on the bed, seizing her sword instead. She reached for his hand.

"What's in the sky, RJ?" she asked.

Her son's face brightened as he dragged her out of the room and down the stairs. Judith stood at the back door, peering in from the porch.

"Mom," her expression too was bright, filled with delighted confusion. "What is that?"

Michonne tilted her head up, staring into the indigo sky with her children. A dark shape was cutting its way through the clouds, emitting a low hum Michonne had not heard in almost a decade.

"It's a helicopter," she said in awe, squinting to be sure.

"A helicopter!" RJ shouted. Even Judith looked enthused.

"What does it mean?" she asked her mother.

Michonne could not respond, not yet. Instead, she rushed down the stairs and up the road, banging down the door of her neighbor's house. Aaron opened it in seconds.

"Michonne?" he asked her cautiously. "Is something wrong?"

Michonne gripped his forearm, tugging the man out of his house. His daughter lurked behind him, staring curiously. "Look," Michonne instructed, pointing.

He turned his eyes immediately upwards. "Holy shit," he breathed.

"You can see it too?" Michonne asked.

"A helicopter," he confirmed. Bewildered, he faced Michonne. His curly hair and beard obscured much of his face, but his expression was clear. "Someone out here has a helicopter. Military, it looks like."

"It does," Michonne agreed. "Maybe they've had it for years."

Aaron softened at once. Michonne despised that look, the pity that sat heavy in his eyes when he looked at her. Aaron had loved once and lost too, had been left with a child of his own. It did not make it easier for Michonne. When she looked at him, his hair and beard reminded her of her own love. It was like salt in an open wound.

"Maybe," he tentatively agreed. "But I think we may have seen it in six years."

Michonne did not answer. Her eyes were back on the sky. Behind her, her children scampered up. They took her hands, leaning into her sides.

"What does it mean?" Judith asked quietly.

Michonne squeezed their palms. "I don't know," she admitted.

As her mind spun, her heart contracted, filling with a hope she'd long since learned to disregard.

-l-l-l-l-

Delirium was beginning to set in. Rick's body was crying out for water, for food, for answers. With trembling fingers, he fumbled with the sails, hurrying to and fro inside his small sailboat, heading cautiously for port.

"Careful," Carl cautioned, stationed beneath the mast. He handed his father the paddle from the first night. "Might want to go in slow," he suggested.

"You could help," Rick felt barely able to stand, but he took the tool anyway, dipping it down into the dark water. With considerable effort, he pushed the boat along. It was a miracle he'd been able to paddle so far the night before. His arms were shaking now.

"I would, but it doesn't work that way," Carl smirked. "I'm a guide."

"Maybe you could guide me to some water," Rick ribbed, half-teasing, half-desperate.

"Get to land, and I'll do my part," his son promised.

A silence stretched between them, broken only by the slap of water against the hull and Rick's steady breathing.

"You didn't tell me his name," Rick said at last, his mind returning home, to Alexandria.

Carl smiled, shooting his father a look out of the corner of his eyes. "You can't guess?" he asked.

"Do they call him Richie?" Rick asked, his throat tight.

"RJ," Carl grinned again. "Mom says he's just like both of us."

"Hardheaded?" Rick questioned.

"He is a Grimes," Carl shrugged.

"He's five now," Rick had done the math the moment Carl told him. He had missed the whole thing. It stung like a knife in his chest, worse than a bullet, worse than rebar, worse than the heat of the bridge exploding. His love had carried that child alone, delivered him without him beside her, had raised another of his children without him. The thought ignited a rage in him that burned like an inferno.

"You're going home to them," Carl reminded him. "It's all that matters now."

Rick nodded, doubling his efforts. He was nearly spent when the boat brushed the remnants of an old dock. He tied it off, hurrying behind the apparition of his oldest son. Carl pointed out buildings in the dark, directing his father to supplies. Steadily, they filled the boat, scavenging water, food, light. All the while, Rick's mind remained on his family.

Rick thumbed on a newly acquired flashlight, pointing it at the walls of room around him. Dozens of advertisements greeted him, their faded colors blinking at him in the thin beam of light. Rick approached them, making out the words. He was inside the shell of an old resort, a remnant of the old world now gone to ruin.

"Spanish?" the sight shocked him.

"Cancun," Carl confirmed. "Across the Gulf."

"That's…3,000 miles away," Rick's head spun.

"More."

"How—" Rick nearly collapsed.

"Doesn't matter. We've got a boat. We can get across, get to Miami. Then we go on foot." He pointed at a pantry door. Rick wrenched it open, jumping back as a walker staggered out. The butt of the flashlight was enough to dismantle it, the hard metal making short work of its soft skull. Rick raided the pantry quickly, salvaging what he could.

They were back on the boat as the moon rose, the temperature dropping across the smooth waters. It would be winter soon. Carl read his thoughts again.

"We'll go quick," he nodded at his father. "Be home by Christmas."

"We will," Rick agreed. He swallowed, summoning what remained of his strength. He loosened the sails, pointing their modest vessel north.

"Sleep now," Carl instructed once the port was far behind. "I'll wake you when it's time."

Lying down, Rick fell into the abyss, his mind reeling with thoughts of home.


	4. Book IV

**A/N: Sorry for a bit of a delay on this chapter. I've been busier than normal. Continuing on with our story, Rick gets ever closer to home! Bonus points for whoever can guess what mythical creature this chapter is based on. Extra bonus points if you can name the song**

 **Enjoy and let me know what you think!**

* * *

"What are you doing, baby?" Michonne paused in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Rick. He was bent over the counter, laboring diligently.

"Making Judith applesauce," he looked up, smiling at her from behind his wayward curls. He'd clearly been at his task for some time, if his appearance was any indication. Rick was no stranger to hard work, and Michonne had long since gotten used to him returning home flushed and spent. She had plans for him tonight that did not involve labor, at least not on his part. A massage was the order of the night, and a long soak in their tub. The candles were already set up around their bathroom in preparation.

Instead, Michonne took a moment to take in her surroundings. The windows were thrown wide open, attempting to coax in an autumn breeze. Their whole house smelled of apples and cinnamon. It put her instantly in mind of the world before this one, of fall festivals and Thanksgiving dinners. On the stove, a concoction simmered away. Rick clutched a bowl in one arm while he poked curiously at his mixture.

"Wish we had some lemons," he mused mostly to himself. He ran one hand through his disheveled hair, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Lemon?" Michonne asked. He did not respond, instead mumbling to himself as he added more spices. She joined him, coaxing the dish from his hand. "You mash this?" she asked, seizing a spoon from the counter.

"Yes," he kissed her gratefully on the forehead. "And Carl always liked his best with a little lemon." Rick swallowed thickly. He turned from her under the guise of stirring his boiling mixture.

Michonne closed the gap, setting the bowl down and wrapping her arms around Rick's waist instead. She squeezed, leaning her face against the broad expanse of his back. A familiar pain rose in her chest, the burden of missing two sons.

"We can plant lemons," she told him, brushing her lips against his shoulder. "This time next year, we'll be applesauce experts."

He grasped her hands around his middle, clinging tightly. He raised one of her hands to his lips before releasing her, reaching for a spoon instead. "Here," he said, his voice gravelly. "Taste."

Immediately, Michonne opened her mouth, accepting the sweet treat. "It's good," she licked her lips.

"I'm out of practice," Rick explained. Still, he flushed under her praise. He took a spoonful himself. "It _is_ good," his eyebrows jumped in surprise.

Michonne laughed lightly, pulling her love into her arms. He relaxed against her, holding her as the apples softened. "Come on," she coaxed, turning off the stove. "Let's get you cleaned up."

-l-l-l-l-

"The food is running low," Carl observed, his eyes running over their meager supplies. In the brightness of day, Rick's son was almost translucent, bobbing to and fro on the boat to the rhythm of the waves outside of it. At night, Carl seemed to glow like some ethereal thing. Rick loved to look at him, memorizing the contours of a face he'd been afraid he would never see again.

"Trying to work out a way to fish," Rick answered. He toyed with a length of string in his hand. He didn't have enough to make a net, but perhaps he could fashion a pole of sorts.

"You need bait," Carl turned towards him.

"You can't just dive down there; get your old man something to eat?" Rick asked, delighting in Carl's response. He'd missed this, the easy comradery with his son.

Carl laughed, shaking his head. "That's not how it works, dad."

"Enlighten me, then," Rick paused, squinting up at him. "Is there a heaven? Are you… happy?"

Carl grinned. "The first answer is complicated, but yes, I'm happy."

Rick absorbed this. "Are you actually here, or is it all in my head?"

"Both," Carl said simply.

"Did someone send you, or—"

"I never left you," Carl grinned. "Not for a second."

Rick lowered his head, taking a deep breath to ease the tightening in his chest. "You're going to make me cry. There's not enough water to spare for all that," he rumbled out, wiping at his eyes.

Carl laughed again. "We'll find water soon enough," he said.

"Do you appear to mom? Michonne, I mean."

"I know what you mean," Carl tilted his head towards Rick. "And I do. Every once in a while. Sometimes Andre comes with me."

Rick paused at that. "What's he like?" His mind conjured up images of the boy Michonne had described in such detail, the precocious toddler with too much energy and a wide, toothy grin.

Carl smiled fondly. "He's like mom," he shrugged simply. "She likes it best when we both come at the same time."

Rick nodded, his mind back home. "I miss her," it was an understatement.

"She misses you too."

"Can I visit her?" Rick asked.

Carl chuckled, amused. "Dad, what do you think you've been doing for six years?"

-l-l-l-l-

" _I'm coming, baby, I'm coming…_ "

Michonne leaned up against the headboard of her bed, her work sprawled around her on the covers. Every map, every schematic, every scrap of paper about military bases, aircraft, anything she thought might help lay before her.

Rick's voice had woken her tonight, as it often did. Normally, she found the sound comforting. There were a million things she missed about Rick, the nuances that made up a life together. She missed the feel of his hand in hers, the smell of his soap, the melody of his laugh. Still, it was his voice, the cadence of his words, that baritone southern accent that she missed most acutely.

Restless, she removed herself from the tangle of blankets, moving silently through the halls of the house. Panic set in when she found Judith's room empty. She hurried towards RJ's bedroom instead, pushing the door open.

Her children were together on his narrow twin bed, arms wrapped around one another. Michonne felt tears rise. Judith often had trouble sleeping. She used to join Michonne and Rick in their bed, then only Michonne. It seemed she had found a new way of relaxing herself.

"Mama," Judith blinked herself awake, gazing up at Michonne.

"Hi Judes," Michonne smoothed back the girl's hair. "You couldn't sleep?"

Judith shook her head. "RJ was crying. I came in here to see what was wrong."

"Why didn't you wake me?" Michonne asked, alarmed. She hadn't heard any signs of her children in distress.

"You need to sleep. You never really do," Judith fixed knowing eyes on her mother.

"Why was he crying?" Michonne turned her attention to RJ. His face was buried in his sister's nightgown, his curls damp with perspiration.

"He had a nightmare," Judith whispered, stroking her brother's head. "He's ok now."

RJ slept soundly, unaware of their conversation. Michonne smiled at her daughter. "You should get some sleep too, baby girl."

"Can you sing to me?" she requested.

"Sure," Michonne smiled.

-l-l-l-l-

The sea was endless, dark and deep. Home was miles away on the other side, not even a speck in the distance. The days were long and hard, a never ending labor of hoisting the sails, course correcting, navigating the best he could due North. The nights were nearly unbearable.

"Carl?" Rick called out over the open water. He had not seen his son in three days. His only companion now was the beating of the waves against the hull of his boat.

After a day, he was sunburned almost beyond recognition. That pain had faded, along with his meager supplies. The food was gone now, and he had no means to fish, nor did he feel strong enough to leap overboard and battle the currents. What was left of his freshwater was now stale, mere sips clinging to the hot plastic of half a dozen bottles tied below the mast.

"Carl," he called again, glancing to and fro in the darkness. "C'mon son. Where are you?"

He'd woken up one morning and Carl had simply been gone. The silence was deafening. There'd been a time where he'd longed for it, just a moment of quiet. Now there was nothing he wouldn't give to hear a friendly voice.

"Rick…" it floated towards him as if on the wind, dancing across the waves. He raised his head, looking around wildly.

"Michonne?" he sat up, scrambling to the side. There was nothing within view but the inky darkness. His head swam, nearly sending him back to his knees. He took a deep breath, steadying himself.

"Where are you?" her voice again, stronger this time, drove him to struggle to his feet.

"I'm here," he called as loud as he was able. "I'm here." He glanced around wildly, desperate for just a glimpse at her.

Silence was his only answer. Rick collapsed along the side of the boat, hanging his hands down into the water. The waves licked up his arms, soothing his burnt skin. He began to drift off, succumbing to his exhaustion.

"Rick," Michonne's voice called again. "Rick!"

With difficulty, he rolled over, collapsing into the bottom of the boat, his head against the unforgiving wood. He ached to his core, tired in a way he'd never felt before. His mouth felt like sandpaper. Desperate, he crawled along the ship, grasping for a nearly empty bottle. He drained it in one breath, the liquid scarcely enough to dampen his dry mouth. His tongue felt thick, heavy.

He lay down again, head spinning. From somewhere far off, a familiar song began.

" _Love me, love me, love me, love me, say you do. Let me fly away with you. For my love is like the wind. And wild is the wind…"_

Rick recognized it at once, the melancholy tune that Michonne often murmured to Judith while they were on the road. Her voice was low and deep, soft and warm like whiskey. Rick had listened to her, enraptured, all those years ago. He was no less captivated tonight.

" _Give me more than one caress. Satisfy this hungriness. Let the wind blow through your heart. For wild is the wind…_ "

He sat up with great difficulty, attempting to hear better. He wasn't sure what magic was at work to carry Michonne's voice so far, or whether he was hallucinating. Either way, he did not question it. Her music was like a balm on his soul, a long missing comfort. His lips, cracked and bleeding, began to move on their own accord, mouthing the lyrics he knew so well.

" _You touch me; I hear the sound of mandolins. You kiss me. With your kiss, my life begins. You're spring to me…All things to me_."

Her lullaby, effective as ever, began to lull him to sleep. His body relaxed fraction by fraction, the pain fading until it was only her voice.

" _Life a leaf clings to the tree. Oh my darling, cling to me. For we're like creatures of the wind, and wild is the wind._ "

"Michonne," Rick whispered her name once more before succumbing, his mind spiraling off into the darkness around him.

-l-l-l-l-

Michonne pulled the covers over her children, kissing each for good measure before heading back to her own room. Her bed loomed, large and empty. She climbed into the middle of it, her mind back on Rick.

Michonne bent over her work. There were dozens of airfields left over from the world before this one; plenty of places a person might secure a military copter.

"Where are you, Rick?" she whispered into the quiet night around her. "Where are you?"

The question tumbled in her mind as she searched the documents around her until the early hours of the morning. She scarcely recalled falling asleep, but eventually her body gave out. She leaned up against the headboard, her work still sprawled around her.

"Hey mom."

She hadn't heard his voice in years, but the sound now woke her with a start. She jumped further at the sight of her son seated at the foot of her bed.

"Carl?" she questioned on a gasp.

"Sorry to wake you up," he wrinkled his forehead, a familiar expression of contrition on his face. "It's kind of important though."

"Carl," Michonne repeated. She shifted, sitting up, pushing books aside to reach for him. He caught her hand. There was a light pressure, soft as a caress on her palm.

"Dad needs you, mom," Carl smiled at her. "He needs your help."

Michonne began to cry at once. She clung to his hand. "Where is he?"


	5. Book V

**A/N: My apologies for the delay! It's been a very eventful few weeks. Please let me know what you think of this chapter. Enjoy!**

* * *

Rick's boat bobbed along the dark waters of the Gulf aimlessly. The sails hung slack, sagging under the humid air. Rick, for his part, did not notice. He lacked the strength to even lift his head, much less attempt the labor of sailing or paddling. Perhaps blessedly, he could not bring himself to care. He lay along the unforgiving wood floor of his transport, fighting to stay conscious.

These brushes with death were nothing new, though this one seemed much nearer than anything had since the bridge. Life seemed to ebb out of him with each rattling breath. Dehydration had set in, and heat exhaustion atop that. Surrounded by water, without a drop to drink, Rick began to fear he was fighting a battle he might lose.

"Carl?" he called tentatively for his son once more, barely deigning to listen for the response. Wherever the young man had gone, he was now lost to Rick.

Around him, a breeze began to dance across the water, disrupting the glasslike surface. With it heralded dark clouds, heavy and foreboding, Rick shivered at the drop in temperature, rolling deeper into his thin clothing, his body racked with fever. He had the fleeting thought that it would be cruel for life to end him like this. He'd have rather died in that explosion, or sometime before, somewhere where he could lay eyes on Michonne, on Judith.

Thoughts of the son he'd never met filled him. He wondered whether he favored Michonne or himself, the color of RJ's skin, the curl of his hair. Perhaps he had his mother's smile, Rick's own laugh. Perhaps he inherited the Grimes' stubbornness. The thought filled him at once with joy and unspeakable sadness.

The wind picked up in earnest, lashing water over the sides of the boat. The clouds covered what remained of the sunlight. Sighing, Rick closed his eyes. A memory filled his mind.

 _"You ok?" Michonne asked, dark eyes finding his in the low light of the church._

 _The rest of their family slept around them, dead to the world. Carl was closest to Rick, sleeping soundly just inches from him. It was the first time in weeks they'd all been together, all been safe. Terminus was gone, the Claimers dead, their enemies, at least for now, destroyed. He had killed for this privilege._

 _He tilted his head up at the woman who had been his lifeline for so many weeks. "Are you?" he asked, not unkindly._

 _With a light sigh, she sat beside him. Her skin, warm and dark, pressed to his. Rick marveled for a moment at its softness, even after months of hard living. "I thought it would get easier," she remarked. "It some ways it does. But in others…"_

 _Rick nodded, "Probably a good thing, killing being hard." He tightened his arms around his daughter. The baby girl slept soundly in his grasp, blissfully unaware of what her father had done to keep her safe._

 _Michonne reached out to stroke her curl-capped head. "Probably," she agreed._

 _Rick shifted his daughter into Michonne's arms without much consideration. Michonne looked surprised for a moment, but took her, an expression of measured glee on her face. She cradled Judith to her chest, bundling the baby against her._

 _"You should sleep," Michonne whispered, looking at Rick from above Judith's head._

 _"I will," and he would, the moment he was sure they were safe. "You sleep first."_

 _Michonne remained by his side, drifting off at last, her arms around his child, her head resting on his shoulder. Rick remained awake, loathe to move even an inch, his family around him._

"Rick!" the voice jolted Rick awake. He blinked water out of his eyes, stunned to find himself soaked. Mustering his strength, he sat up gingerly. What he saw leaning against the mast threatened to level him again.

"Glenn?" Rick couldn't help the instant grin that broke across his face, even through the pain.

"Hey dumbass," Glenn responded fondly. "Figured you were about to drown in a damn boat. And it's not that I wouldn't be happy to have a pal over here in the afterlife, but I promised Carl I'd keep you alive."

A sea of emotion roiled through Rick at once. "Glenn, I—"

Glenn held up one translucent hand. "Let me stop you there. What happened sucked big time, but it's not on you. So we're not going to do the whole angsty song and dance, are we?"

Rick shook his head, chuckling despite himself. "I've missed you," he told Glenn.

"I've missed you too," Glenn smiled, the gesture somehow brighter now than it was even in life. "But we've got some time together until your kid comes back."

"What?" Rick's head spun as the boat rocked wildly.

"Plenty of time for questions later," Glenn walked casually toward him as though he was on top of the waterlogged vessel. "But in case you didn't notice, a storm's coming. Figured you might want to survive it."

Rick struggled to his feet, pausing only to scoop heaving handfuls of fresh water into his mouth. The relief was instantaneous, a modicum of strength returning with each cool drop he swallowed. "You're always saving me," he told Glenn, grateful.

"Don't I know it," Glenn rolled his eyes, but laughed. His mirth sobered when a large wave swelled above the hull, sending the boat careening.

"What do I do?" Rick asked, moving towards the mast. He chanced a glance at the sea, the great waves rising like cobalt mountains in the distance.

"I'm thinking you better hold on," Glenn said, eyes widening.

Nodding, Rick braced himself.

-l-l-l-l-

Michonne finished preparing her backpack, tossing it, and her sword, over her shoulder.

"I want to come," the argument was old by now, but no less expected. Judith stood in the hallway, arms crossed, RJ at her ankles.

"Me too!" RJ could not understand for what he was volunteering, but he did so with panache. They were both dressed for the road, each clutching a bag of their own.

"I told you so," Carl whispered conspiratorially, a look of pride on his face. Michonne resisted the urge to cut her eyes at him.

"It's too dangerous," Michonne reminded her children calmly, moving past them. They quickly dogged her steps.

"I've been out before—" Judith countered.

"In a group."

"We'll be with you," Judith tried again.

"Not even I can protect you all of the time." The thought alone haunted Michonne. Her children were safer behind these walls.

"But you'd leave us alone?" Judith accused. It was a low blow and the girl knew it. She flinched slightly under her mother's serious glance.

"I would never leave you," Michonne said. "Not for long."

Judith swallowed. Behind her, RJ looked up curiously. "Where are you going?" he asked, at last seeming to grasp the seriousness of the situation.

"To get Daddy," it was Judith who answered.

RJ's eyes widened. "But you said Daddy was in heaven," he began cautiously.

"I thought so," Michonne's heart clenched. "But he might not be. I'm going to go find out."

"We want to come," Judith reiterated.

"Mom, we don't have time," Carl stepped in.

Michonne turned her head towards her oldest son. Neither of her two other children seemed to see him. "Carl says you need to stay," Michonne played her last hand.

"I did not," Carl laughed lightly. Michonne did cut her eyes this time. Carl continued to laugh quietly, watching his siblings.

Judith considered this. "Is he going with you?"

"He is," Michonne said. She adjusted her belongings. No matter how painful the parting, every moment spent in Alexandria was another that Rick spent alone, in danger.

"Will you come back quickly?" Judith asked, uncrossing her arms.

"As fast as I can," Michonne promised. She dropped to her knees, reaching for her son and daughter. They hugged her back tightly.

"Bring daddy back," Judith said through sudden tears. "I miss him."

"Me too," RJ added, kissing Michonne's cheek for good measure.

"I will," Michonne swallowed her own tears.

She forced herself to leave quickly, not looking back at Aaron or her children as they waved from the porch.

"They'll be fine," Carl soothed, walking alongside her horse as it cantered along.

Michonne nodded, unable to speak.

"It's a few days ride, but if it all works out, we'll see dad soon," Carl continued on.

"He's alone?" Michonne managed to ask, her throat tight.

"He's with Glenn," Carl told her.

Michonne relaxed, just a fraction. In the dark, she continued onward, allowing herself to hope.

-l-l-l-l-

"Try not to throw up," Glenn instructed. "You don't have much in you as it is."

Rick would have glared, but the saltwater lashing him in the face prevented it. Instead, he clung tighter to the mast, weathering the storm. It tossed his vessel like a children's toy in a bathtub. Up and down they went, careening and falling, then rising again, a sickening swell and ebb that threatened to knock Rick from his feet repeatedly.

He slipped once more, crashing into the bottom as yet another wave broke atop them. It had been upwards of an hour now of weathering the storm. Every passing moment felt like another step closer to death.

"Rick," Glenn perhaps sensed his thoughts. "Hold on. She's coming for you."

"Michonne?" Rick turned his head, gurgling out her name. Glenn nodded, even as the sea crested again behind him.

"Hold on!" the instruction was the last Rick heard before his senses became consumed with the ocean. Salt water engulfed him, tearing at the boat, ripping his grip from the mast. He went spiraling, flailing, his feet leaving the sanctuary of the hardwood.

The ocean took him, dragging him down. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of his mind, Rick heard a scream.

It sounded like Michonne.


	6. Book VI

**A/N: I got some momentum back! For those who know the Odyssesy, you may have recognized some of the parallels to the Greek gods abd monsters. Any guess which monster is next? Please let me know what you think!**

* * *

The chill of the night made the risk of a fire worth it. Michonne sheltered herself against a tree, hidden deep in the underbrush away in the forest. The roads wasn't quite the dangerous place it had been so soon after the turn, but old habits were not easily changed.

"Do you remember when it was just you me and dad?" Carl asked, interrupting the merry crackling of the bonfire. He was stretched out beside her, much the way he used to sit when he was alive.

"Of course," Michonne adjusted the blankets around her, relaxing just marginally. She wondered whether this phenomenon of being visited by your lost loved ones existed before the turn. Perhaps it had, and so much unending death had simply made the occurrence common. Or maybe she had simply truly lost her mind. There had been moments after Mike and Andre died where she was certain her sanity slipped. Then Carl had come into her life, and Rick.

"You know what's weird?" Carl grinned. The light of the flames did not dance off his face like it did hers. In fact, while darkness lurked between the trees and under the roots of the forest around them, no shadows seemed to obscure Carl's facade. He almost glowed. "That time…" Carl paused, searching for a way to phrase it. "It was one of the worst of my life, but also the best, you know what I mean?"

"I do," Michonne smiled, worrying her lip between her teeth. The road had been unending agony, but she had learned much about herself. She could preserve, could be happy, could love again. Her affection for Rick had swelled into something behemoth, something unshakable, forged in the fire of never ending adversity.

"We thought Judith was dead, and everyone else," Carl continued, "but after my mom died, I felt like I did too. But being with you, I felt alive again." Carl tilted his head in a gesture very much like his father's.

"I know the feeling," she reached for him without considering her action. Her hand passed over him and a gentle pressure pushed back, like a warm summer breeze. She felt a pang of longing for the silk of his hair, the warmth of his skin, the long nights he'd once laid in her lap talking away.

"I know we both figured I had more time," Carl reached for her, wrapping his hand around her wrist. "But I'm happy here." He kissed her hand.

Michonne allowed the tears to fall. They cooled her cheeks, the night air biting at her face, the sounds of walkers moaning somewhere far off in the distance. "I'm glad," she managed to squeak out.

"Andre, he's good too," Carl added, looking at her in that way he always had, as though he could see inside of her mind. "He's still pretty little, so it's harder for him to get around, but he never left you, you know."

The tears fell in earnest, years of unanswered questions and doubt suddenly falling away. "Mike?"

"He spends most of his time with Andre," Carl grinned. "He figured my dad was doing a good job of taking care of you. I think they might like each other, someday when they meet. Hopefully a long time from now."

Her heart contracted, her mind filled with visions of her two loves, of their similarities and differences. Mike had come into her life in an expected way, had held her heart in his own right. Her love for him, though strong, paled in comparison to her love for Rick. Rick was the love of her life. "How's your dad been?" she asked tentatively. Part of her feared the answer.

"Missing you, mostly." Carl grinned. "You know how he is."

"So needy," Michonne smiled, falling into an old pattern of teasing. She could almost imagine Rick, shaking his head beside them as they ribbed him good naturedly. It was the role he played often in their too-short time as a family.

"I left him with Glenn. I figured it'd be good for dad to talk to him. He's got a lot of guilt about that," Carl sighed.

Michonne nodded. She remembered the sleepless nights and the nightmares both. "Maggie says she sees Glenn all of the time," she said.

"I'm sure," Carl did not look surprised. "That's where Glenn always is. He's never far from her."

"You all watch us? All of the time?" Michonne asked.

"Always," Carl smiled, leaning against her.

-l-l-l-l-

Grains of sand, rough and unyielding, pressed mercilessly into Rick's skin. His body felt stiff as a board, beaten, bruised, sore.

"Get up," Glenn called urgently to him. There was a gentle tug of sorts on Rick's arm. "Rick, I'm serious."

A groan was the only answer he could muster, though he raised his head marginally. Every muscle in his body cried out in simultaneous protest. Gingerly, he moved his fingers, then his hands, testing himself.

"Rick," Glenn's voice edged on panic. "C'mon."

"I can't," Rick managed to grind out. His limbs felt like lead. Sputtering, he attempted to clear his mouth and throat of its salt coating.

The tugging came again, more urgently. "Rick, this is do or die," Glenn prodded.

Steeling himself, Rick managed to raise his body to its knees. Beyond them, the sea lilted back and forth peacefully. The beach however, was spackled with debris, the evidence of the storm that had thrown him here. His ship lay in shattered pieces, splintered and littered across the expanse of sand. The once white surface was now covered in plant life, overgrown with lack of visitors.

"Where am I?" Rick asked dizzily.

"In a hell of a lot of trouble," Glenn appeared before him, almost invisible in the sunlight. "Can you get up?"

"Can you help me?" Rick tried again, nearly tumbling flat.

"It doesn't work like that," Glenn groaned. "I got you out of the storm, but I can't—"

A noise brought their discussion to an abrupt end. The moaning of the dead began to crest over the sounds of the waves, lured to the beach by the men's voices. There were dozens, bloated with sea air and salt water, grotesque as they lumbered towards Rick, arms extended.

Rick considered his options. There was no strength in him to fight, nor to run. Perhaps he could wade into the water, float just out of reach. Still, the air was cold and the water sure to be colder. Fever already burned in his body.

"You gotta get up," Glenn plead with him again. "Come on, Rick. What'll get you up?" There was a soft press beneath his arms as Rick's old friend pulled at him. "You know Michonne's on her way?" Glenn asked him. "Carl went to get her. You're going to see her again, but you have to get up!"

With tremendous effort, Rick got his feet beneath him, pushing up with a pained shout. His heart was pounding, adrenaline pumping through him. Michonne was coming. His Michonne, the woman who'd saved him so many time he lost count, was coming to save him again.

"Where is she?" he asked Glenn from between clenched teeth. He almost pitched forward back into the sand, but managed to right himself.

Glenn looked inordinately pleased. "She's coming," he promised again. "We have to go meet her."

Nodding, Rick turned towards the threat slowly making its way towards him. "I'm not going to be able to fight," he said regretfully.

"You just need to walk," Glenn assured him.

Slowly, they picked their way across the beach. The moaning of the dead was like a whip, spurring Rick on despite his ailments. Every step was like a knife to his side. He could not force his body to go faster.

He fell, a hundred yards from where he began, going down face first in the sand. Glenn let out a shout of surprise. "Rick, shit…"

Rick's vision blurred. Desperately, he attempted to think of Michonne, to strengthen himself to find her.

-l-l-l-l-

 _"I love you," he'd wanted to say it from the first time their lips touched, but had resisted, afraid to spook her. This thing, whatever had changed between them was so strong, so natural. Rick feared to be the one to break it. Still, in the light of the morning sun, he regarded her, pressed beside him in bed. He thought she'd been lost to him not all that long ago. Rick had supposed he knew sorrow, thought he knew rage, and worry and exhaustion. This lesson had educated him in a new kind of fear._

 _She smiled, almost bashful, still sleepy and sore from her confinement. "I love you too," she assured him. "I missed you."_

 _Rick reached for her, mindful of her injuries. He'd almost lost her to the Saviors, she and Carl both. Fate, it seemed, had been in his favor today. He cosseted her gently in his grasp, wiping her tears away as she clung to him._

 _"We lived," she breathed, half in awe, staring up at him through tear stained eyes._

 _"We're the ones who live," he reminded her, kissing her as softly as he could muster._

-l-l-l-l-

Someone was tugging at him with none of the gentleness Rick had become accustomed to. A yelp of pain escaped him as he was dragged roughly through piles of debris.

"Whoa there, son. I've got you." A voice like gravel assaulted his ears.

"Glenn," Rick called out for his friend, but there was no answer.

"Don't know no Glenn," the accent, thick as the humid air around them, spoke to Rick instead. "But you're going to be all right."

"Need to get home," Rick struggled, attempting to free himself from the stranger.

"You're going to my home," the stranger laughed, a cold, harsh sound like the waters nearby.

Unceremoniously, Rick was lifted and tossed into the back of a wagon. Scavenged supplies, the sail of his boat, lengths of soaking wet rope, driftwood and mollusks, all tumbled around him. Exhausted, Rick sank into the mess, staring up at the man who had him at his will.

He was a leathery, older man, browned like a nut from hours of unforgiving sun. His hair was brittle as the plants littering the beach, light like straw. What sent Rick's blood running cold though was the single bright blue eye staring back at him. In his fevered and weak state, his mind rushed back through time, to the prison, to the man who had killed his friends.

"Governor," Rick spat. With a snarl, Rick reached for him. The man batted his hand away, unconcerned.

"Don't know no governor," he laughed again. "Come on, boy. Quit that now." He pushed Rick backwards into the cart. Rick collapsed, spent. "That's more like it," the stranger nodded, satisfied. He ambled around to the front of the cart. With a muffled shout, the wheels began to turn, rumbling them away from the beach.

Off behind him, Rick's eyes caught a faint glimmer. Glenn, translucent in the light of day, was walking along beside him.

"Grab that," Glenn pointed, whispering urgently.

Groping, Rick's hands clasped around a pointed shard of what had once been his boat. Quickly, he hid it beneath his clothes.

"Rest now," Glenn instructed, climbing beside him. "You're going to need it."

The cart ambled away from the shore, the dead trailing a few yards behind it.


	7. Book VII

**A/N: Sorry for the long delay! The holidays are proving to be much busier than anticipated. I hope it's been worth the wait! Enjoy**

The whir of the helicopter startled Michonne from sleeping. There was a surreal moment between waking and dreaming where she forgot her circumstances. For a beat, she'd been in her high rise in Atlanta, asleep in the master bedroom. The sounds of aircraft had been the only downside of that way of life and had often woken her before her alarm. Now, Michonne blinked wearily, nestled between gnarled tree roots and the mossy forest floor. She glanced straight up, barely able to make out the circular blades as the helicopter made its way above her.

"They can't see you from here," Carl assured her. He too squinted up, looking more curious than concerned.

"They're the ones who took your father," it was not a question and Michonne did not phrase it as such.

"They did," Carl nodded. "To be fair, they didn't know he had a family until it was too late. They'd probably have brought all of you. Dad was definitely out of it when they grabbed him. By the time he made a fuss, it was too late."

The thought alone was enough to wake her completely. Anxiety returned, the ever-pressing desire to find Rick, safe and sound. "He was a prisoner?" Michonne sat up to pack her belongings, her ears still trained to the sounds of the helicopter.

"Sort of. Anne wasn't in any hurry to let him go home." Carl stood up.

"Anne?" Michonne asked sharply. Her blood ran suddenly hot. She'd never much cared for the woman from the start. And though she'd been harmless enough in the two years between their meeting and Rick's disappearance, Michonne knew leopards did not often change their spots. She hadn't thought about the woman in years, but now rage coiled in her belly like a living thing.

"Maybe you can talk to her. Find out what she was thinking," the slight twist of Carl's lips let Michonne know that he knew there would be no such conversation. He clearly did not disapprove.

"She's looking for him now?" Michonne clenched her hand around the handle of her katana.

"That's my guess," Carl looked more amused than anything. "You'll find him first."

Michonne stood, slinging on her pack, more determined than ever. "Let's go," she instructed.

With a grin, Carl followed.

-l-l-l-l-l-

 _"_ _You planning on holding me hostage?" Michonne laughed as she slid her shoes off and under the bed. She lifted her katana over her head, giggling as Rick wiggled the doorknob, testing the lock._

 _Rick turned to her, grinning broadly. "Considering we had to jump up ass-naked this morning, I think we're entitled to a little privacy."_

 _Michonne's giggling escalated. "Everyone got an eyeful, that's for sure." She hadn't expected to meet their whole family on the stairs this morning. In a way, it was a relief. Now there was no need for an awkward announcement. After the shock of it wore off, no one had seemed remotely surprised by the revelation._

 _"_ _Lucky them," Rick chuckled. He removed his shoes and jacket, peeling off the blood-stained white t-shirt. "Hell of a day," he sighed, tossing the fabric into the corner where the hamper sat._

 _"_ _Lots to think about," Michonne agreed. Their world had expanded in a way she didn't anticipate. They would need to discuss it with the family, to strategize and fill Alexandria in. She wasn't thinking about any of that right now though._

 _"_ _Plenty of time for that later," Rick said. He sat beside her, his leg brushing hers. "We didn't get to talk much before we got interrupted."_

 _"_ _We didn't," Michonne's heart began to rattle wildly. She took a breath, willing herself calm. She wasn't some love-struck teenager anymore. This was Rick, her best friend, the man who had seen her through some of the darkest times in her life. There was nothing to be nervous about._

 _Rick swallowed, reaching for her hand, much the way he had in the RV that morning. "I hope you know, this just ain't a casual thing for me. This is different."_

 _"_ _It is," Michonne smiled, moving closer to him._

 _"_ _I want you, Michonne, for however long you'll have me," he kissed her hand before pausing for a beat. "Longer than that, probably," He chuckled._

 _Michonne laughed with him. "You think I'm going to get sick of you, old man?" She jostled him jokingly, enjoying the contact with his bare skin. She'd seen Rick plenty of times in various stages of undress, but it wasn't until the night before she'd truly allowed herself to look at him. The images of him, naked in bed beside her, had filled her head all day._

 _"_ _Couldn't blame you if you did," Rick smiled, the gesture not quite reaching his eyes. For a moment, she saw a flash of insecurity, some long-hidden fear raising its head. She had no intention of beginning a relationship that way._

 _Michonne cupped his face between her hands, kissing him slowly on the lips. "No chance," she assured him. "You're stuck with me."_

 _He smiled earnestly, kissing her deeply. "You're stuck with me too," he whispered. Rick's lips met hers again, igniting the fire that had erupted between them. He pulled back, standing up suddenly and rushing to the door. Michonne watched, amused as he double checked the lock._

 _"_ _Just making sure," he crossed back over to her. "I got plans for you tonight."_

 _"_ _Oh yeah?" she asked, her amusement transforming._

 _"_ _Yeah," he drove his point home by tackling her to their bed._

-l-l-l-l-

The wind whipped by outside, rain lashing the sides of the walls. The house held up against the storm, rocking gently as thunder rumbled beyond. A thousand yards below, waves crashed against the shore, destroying what was left of Rick's boat. Inside, Rick began to stir, waking up in a bed that was unfamiliar to him. Every inch of him still burned in pain, but it was more manageable now. He sat up gingerly, wincing as his ribs screamed in protest.

"Two of them are broken, the rest bruised up pretty bad, by my count," Glenn spoke up suddenly, nearly scaring Rick out of his wits. "Luckily, they didn't puncture anything," Glenn continued as though Rick hadn't jumped. "You've got a fever too, and more bruises and cuts than I wanted to count."

"But I'm alive," Rick leaned against the headboard.

"You're alive," Glenn agreed. "You need to stay that way."

Rick scanned the room. It was a snug, quaint space, with an antique dresser pressed up against one wall and a picturesque window on the opposite side. If not for his circumstances, Rick would think it cozy. Michonne would love it. They'd often discussed making a trip to the beach, perhaps even retiring there when the burdens of leadership got too great. The appeal of a beach house and both of his girls was what kept him going some days. Rick wondered whether RJ favored both his parents in their love of the outdoors.

"The door's locked, but that's not the problem," Glenn drew Rick back to the situation at hand. "The owner, he's not exactly a normal guy."

"Figures." Luck of that sort never seemed to be on Rick's side. Rick strained his ears, listening for his perhaps rescuer over the sounds of the storm. He could faintly make out a scraping of sorts from a few rooms away.

"He's going to try and keep you here," Glenn told him. "He's been alone a long time. There's a reason there's no people around here."

"He's dangerous?" Rick asked. He fingered the jagged piece of wood he'd hidden beneath his waistband.

"He will be, when you try and leave." Glenn looked warily towards the door.

"Then let's go now," Rick tossed the blankets back and attempted to stand. His ribs made their displeasure known immediately, knocking him back to the mattress.

Glenn shot him a knowing look. "You're not going to make it. I hate to say it, but you need to stay put for now."

"I'm done being held hostage," Rick protested through clenched teeth, attempting to stand again.

"I get that, Rick, I do," Glenn pushed him backwards. "But you get out there and those walkers take you, or your fever, or one of those ribs punctures a lung…You're not going to make it back home."

"So I let some crazy old man keep me as a pet?" Rick shuddered.

"You let him heal you. Then you run." Glenn continued. "I worked it all out. A week is what you need. He's going to feed you, bandage you up. Let him. He's not going to try anything with you all banged up."

"Try what?" Rick's stomach turned.

"You don't want to know, man," Glenn shook his head. "The thing is, don't drink anything he gives you."

"What?"

"Just don't drink anything," Glenn said quickly. "Food is fine. Don't drink. Put a bowl outside the window and drink the rainwater. But don't drink what he gives you."

"You aren't making me feel any better about this," Rick grunted, shifting uncomfortably.

"You've got no choice," Glenn shrugged. "You do this, you go home."

Rick swallowed, turning his head towards the door. Someone was shuffling up the hall just beyond. Glenn went transparent again.

"Be careful," he cautioned, disappearing.

The door swung open, admitting the owner of the house. He smiled toothlessly, looking pleased as punch.

"You're up," he grunted, nodding in approval. "You were out for almost a day. You must be starving."

Rick steeled himself. "I could eat," he admitted.

"Good," one blue eye fixed itself on Rick. There was a predatory gleam there that Rick didn't like at all. "We'll get you fattened up again in no time." He shuffled in, clutching a tray. Atop it was a steaming bowl of what looked like stew.

Obediently, Rick accepted the meal, his mind hundreds of miles away with his family.

-l-l-l-l-

There were hundreds at least, all milling about aimlessly like cattle in a field.

"I've never seen a herd so big," Michonne looked out from her vantage point, calculating.

"There's not a lot of people out here," Carl explained. "They get drawn to the only sounds in the area. Which is basically just each other."

"Your dad is on the other side of that," Michonne huffed in frustration. The whole of the road was blocked by the dead.

"We have to go around," Carl didn't sound thrilled either. "Or wait for them to pass."

Michonne nodded, calming her emotions. She could not afford to become distracted now. "We go around."

-l-l-l-l-l-

A week dragged by, unmarked by anything besides the appearance of meals. Rick's captor entered through the little wooden door, his eye always on Rick. Rick estimated that two or three meals came through that door a day. At times, his keeper left the food with him and departed, at times he putted about the room, straightening up, fussing with blankets, humming some nonsense tune to himself. As Rick's strength returned, he found himself under much more scrutiny.

Glenn often disposed of the drinks, at times tossing them from the window, at times sopping them up in Rick's bedding when that eye was occupied elsewhere. Rick's fever subsided first, then his chills. After a few days, his ribs no longer throbbed, though they smarted if he made any sudden movements. The pallor had faded from his face, and although Rick knew his beard had to be leaning on the side of behemoth, he was drawing more and more stares from that solitary indigo eye.

"He's going to try something soon," Glenn warned Rick with obvious distaste in between visits. "You're going to need to be quick."

Rick hadn't had to fight anyone in years, but a familiar feeling was returning to him, that burning in the pit of his stomach that accompanied acts of violence. He had done much he wasn't proud of to survive. He would do worse to get back to his family.

"I'll be quick," Rick promised. He could not stomach that gaze much longer. He watched Rick while he ate, his eye gleaming with some predatory desire that turned Rick's stomach. Whatever his captor's intentions were, Rick had no such plans on enduring them.

"That's quite the beard," the one-eyed man observed. By Rick's estimation, it was the seventh day. The sun was just rising beyond the window, cutting through the haze left behind by the nearly constant rain. Rick was sitting up in bed, a bowl of something resembling oatmeal in his lap.

"Haven't had a chance to shave," Rick tried for congenial but wasn't quite sure he made it. It was getting harder to be in this man's presence and feign delight. He must have done a fair job of it, because the one-eyed man grinned.

"I'd be curious to see you without it," he mused, stroking his own scraggly chin. "Might have a straight razor somewhere, if you'd be obliged."

There was a cold day's chance in hell of that, but Rick forced a smile. "Couldn't hurt," he quickly spooned food into his mouth.

"Got some coffee for you," the one-eyed man gestured to a mug on the bedside table. "Drink up," he stood, heading for the door.

Rick picked up the mug, waiting until the door swung closed. "Glenn," he whispered urgently.

"Get ready," Glenn materialized, staring at the door with distaste. In a flash, he tossed the coffee, returning the cup to Rick's hand. The dredges swirled along the bottom of the ceramic, dark and grainy.

Rick felt though his clothing for his shank, checking that it was still concealed. The motion made his head swim. Glenn looked at Rick, eyes wide.

"Shit," he knocked the bowl from Rick's lap. "Don't eat anymore."

"Glenn…What the f—"

"Rick listen," Glenn shook him. "He's been fattening you up. It's Terminus all over again."

Anger ran red hot in Rick's veins, burning through the fear. "Fuck that." Rick sat up, pushing past his discomfort.

The damage was done. Whatever Rick had avoided by refusing to drink was now in his system. He cursed his naivete, even as the spins overtook him. Rick bent over the bed, shoving his finger down his throat to gag up what he'd ingested.

"I figured the food would do you in," the one-eyed man was back. He smiled wildly from his place in the doorway as he looked at Rick, clutching his strait razor. "We can still do that shave if you want, but it looks like you might just want to get down to business."

"Rick, fight!" Glenn hollered somewhere near Rick's ear. The one-eyed man did not appear to hear it.

"How were you getting rid of the drinks?" he asked. "You can barely stand up to go to the bathroom." He paused, staring Rick down. "You're tough, I'll give you that. But I think we've fattened you up enough."

Rick struggled, kicking his legs out, scrambling to stand. "Back the fuck up," he growled.

His captor looked amused. "I'm gonna miss you, whoever you are. But food is hard to come by. That herd out there picks it all off."

Rick was not listening. As his captor walked towards him, Rick calculated. At the last moment, he feinted, avoiding the blade, and rolling to the side of the bed. With all the strength he could muster, he pulled his shank, stabbing it into the man's one good eye.

The roar was inhuman, monstrous. The man went flailing, cursing for all he was worth. Rick rolled away, collapsing to the ground.

"Go!" Glenn was shouting again, pushing.

The now-no-eyed-man writhed, swinging his blade blindly. Rick got his knees out from under him and crawled. He banged down the narrow hallways, following Glenn's guidance, his heart pounding in his ears. When the spray of salty sea air hit his face, he let out a sigh of relief.

"Get to the wagon," Glenn instructed, still guiding him. "You're almost there."

They kicked up sand as they moved, Rick sputtering and spitting. With great effort, he heaved himself into the wagon back, collapsing. Glenn busied himself with something, out of sight. Within minutes, the wagon made off down the road behind the one-eyed man's mare.

"Is Michonne coming?" Rick could only think of his wife, of her fight years ago with the Governor. He needed her desperately.

"Yeah, Rick," Glenn grinned at him, the worry finally erased from his face. "She's coming."


	8. Book VIII

**A/N: Merry Christmas! Have a Richonne reunion as my gift to you! Thank you for all your kind feedback. enjoy!**

* * *

It was a calculated risk, but Michonne saw no other choice. Time was of the absolute essence, and this herd was staggering in size. The temperature had dropped dramatically in the last three nights. With every passing hour, her worry for Rick grew beyond her own discomfort.

"Mom…" Carl cautioned once more. "This is dangerous."

She nodded absently, splitting open the walker lying at her feet. The odor was immediate and overpowering. There'd been a time where Michonne would scarcely have noticed it, where it would have been just another fact of life. Nearly a decade of living behind walls had softened her somewhat. She wrinkled her nose, but did not falter in her labor.

"If it rains, mom," Carl began anew, "your cover will be blown."

"I'll move quickly," Michonne began to apply her disguise, smearing on the gore.

"You better," Carl mumbled. It lacked the bite of a threat but smacked of his worry. Michonne turned her eyes toward her son.

"Your dad isn't going to make it out here too much longer, not if he's gone through what you think. I'm still quick, Carl." She smiled, attempting to soothe him.

"I'll be right behind you," he did not return her gesture, but walked as closely to her as possible. The storm clouds rumbled ominously above them, dark and thick with all manner of troubling possibilities.

"We go straight through. Be my eyes," Michonne held her sword aloft, wading into the herd. The dead bounced limply around her like salmon upstream, unblinking eyes fixed on nothing. Somewhere, on the other side of this crowd, Rick was waiting.

Thunder rumbled above, startling the herd somewhat. They began to move in earnest, searching for the source of the sound. Michonne moved quicker, pushing herself through, following Carl's calm and measured instructions. Minutes stretched into ions, each step one further into danger, and closer to her love.

She was just meters away from the edge of the crowd when the clouds began to unleash their storm.

-l-l-l-l-

Rick hated the cold- always had, even as a kid. When the other children were hoping for a white Christmas, little Rick had been buttoning up his sweaters, tying on his scarf and bunkering down until summer. A southern boy all his life, he had no tolerance for weather below 60 degrees and had never developed the temperament for it.

"Got any hot chocolate or anything?" Rick asked through gritted teeth, attempting to lighten the mood.

Glenn looked over at him, mildly amused. "Didn't know you were this much of a baby," he observed lightly.

"A baby?" Rick scoffed even as he shivered. "Last time I checked, I survived a damn explosion, then a hurricane, then a crazy cannibal who I'm pretty sure had a thing for me-"

Glenn laughed. "So you're going to let a little cold take you down?"

"A little?!" Rick scoffed. "It's freezing out here."

"Not quite," Glenn looked upwards towards the mass of storm clouds above them. "Better hope it does soon though. Or we're going to get wet."

"If it snows, the horse isn't going to make it." Rick looked towards the beast beside them. It was huddled against the trees, sheltered from the cold. Food had been scarce, water scarcer.

"You forget your wife is coming?" Glenn asked.

"Nah," Rick relaxed into his threadbare blankets, hunkering down into the bottom of the wagon. "I ain't forgot."

-l-l-l-l-

 _"It's snowing!" Judith's screech split the morning air, echoing through the house. Rick and Michonne bolted upright in bed at once, both in various states of panic._

 _"Shit," Rick groaned, even as Michonne began to giggle beside him. "Thought someone was dying."_

 _"Just excited," Michonne kissed his cheek, already mobilizing to get out of bed. She threw back the covers, letting in the chill of the morning as she scrambled to pull on her clothing. His own shirt and boxers hit him unceremoniously in the chest as she covered herself. Rick moved more slowly._

 _"Snow," he murmured, looking out the window. Flurries were dancing beyond the glass pane, silhouetted by the sun rising._

 _"It's pretty," Michonne smiled, pausing to look._

 _"It's cold," Rick griped. Watch duty was going to be a nightmare tonight._

 _"Baby," she teased, reaching out to pinch him._

 _"You don't have duty today," he complained lightly, grinning at her before pulling on his clothing._

 _"And here I was planning to warm you up before letting you go out there," Michonne shrugged. "But if you're going to be a scrooge…"_

 _"I'll be good," he promised quickly. Whenever Michonne was in a mood like this, their nights got very eventful._

 _"Good," she smiled, satisfied. "Start by grabbing our daughter before she starts screaming again." She pointed towards the door. On the other side, Judith was singing at the top of her lungs. The nonsense song was gaining in steam._

 _With a grin, he opened the door, kissing his wife once more for good measure._

-l-l-l-l-

The snow was making it difficult to navigate, even with the herd long behind them. Michonne still was not entirely sure how she managed to get out of that situation and Carl had not paused to explain it to her. She'd been running for what felt like an hour, her camouflage long disposed of when the snow first began to fall. The flakes were caught in her locks, clinging to her eyelashes and face. Her limbs felt heavy, every one burning as she pushed herself. Snow began to gather at her ankles, tugging her backwards, but still she ran.

"Almost there," Carl promised from somewhere beside her. "Almost there, mom."

Michonne ran faster. Night was gaining rapidly and the temperature dropping even quicker. The trees around them grew thicker, slowing her progress, but also the snowfall. Her pack bounced hard against her back, her breath frosted in front of her, her lungs burned, but somewhere, Rick was growing ever closer.

She saw the horse first, a skinny, sad excuse for an animal, huddled miserably between the trees. Michonne looked around wildly.

"Rick?" she whispered his name, slowing her approach. "Rick?"

The wind whistled, but there was no answer. Michonne spun on her heel, the ice melting and gathering beneath her boots. Carl was nowhere in sight either. Undaunted, she continued forward, walking towards the horse.

"Rick," she called louder now, sword clutched in her feet. "Rick, baby, are you out there?"

The horse lifted its head, whinnying lightly in her direction. Michonne reached out to pat its nose, still searching.

"Rick!" she lifted her voice, listening to it echo between the trees. "It's Michonne. Are you out there?"

From somewhere behind an outcropping of trees, a voice called back.

"Michonne?"

-l-l-l-l-

Her voice drew him out of his dreams into the waking world. Rick sat up carefully under his pile of blankets, loathe to wake up from his dream. He and Michonne had been in bed together in Alexandria, Carl and Judith safe and sound a few rooms over. He'd been simply holding her, doing nothing but listening to the sound of her voice as she talked, perfectly at peace. Snow was falling around him, thick in the air, the cold settling in at once. He looked around for Glenn, but found no one. His horse was gone also. The rope that once secured her was chewed clean through.

"Shit," Rick shifted, sitting up, ignoring the pain in his chest. He secured a blanket around his shoulders and climbed out from the safety of the wagon. The woods around him looked almost beautiful as the day slipped away into to nightfall. If he wasn't in such dire straits, Rick might have taken a moment to appreciate it. Instead, he looked around, exhausted, bleary, and wondering where to start.

"Rick?"

His name reached him as though it floated on the breeze, a whisper so quiet he wasn't sure he hadn't dreamt it. He paused in his tracks, looking around. His name came again, slightly louder this time. His heart began to pound, racing in his chest.

"Michonne?" he asked, peering between trees. In the dusting of snow, he could just make out the crescent shape of a horse's hooves. He followed, adrenaline surging.

"Rick!" it was unmistakable this time. "It's Michonne. Are you there?"

He let out a shaky laugh, his legs going weak, even as he pushed forward. "Michonne?" he called for her, rushing towards her voice.

He pushed past a tight circle of trees, bursting into a small clearing. Michonne was standing on the other side, holding the severed end of the rope still tied to his horse.

"Rick?" she burst into tears at once at the sight of him, rushing forward. Rick met her halfway, no longer cold as he tossed the blanket to the ground. He caught her around the middle, grasping her as tightly as he could.

"Michonne," his voice broke around her name. He clung to her, breathing in her scent. Her fingers went to his hair immediately.

"I found you," she sobbed, her tears leaving tracks down her smooth brown cheeks. "I found you."

"You did," he assured her, holding her as tightly as he could. Her heart was racing, thumping against his.

"Rick," she repeated his name, holding his face between her hands. "Where have you been?" she cried.

Rick caught her face, brushing the tears away. His eyes hungrily searched her. She looked much the same as she had that last morning together. Her locs were longer perhaps, one side shaved to expose the lines of her beautiful features. He drank in the sight of her.

"Michonne," he muttered her name once, unable to speak further. Instead he yanked her towards him, kissing her soundly.

She responded immediately, pulling at him until they both went down in the snow. Rick ignored the pain in his chest as he took most of the fall, instead securing her in his arms.

"How did you find me?" he paused for breath, pressing the question into her neck.

"I had some help," she chuckled wetly, still tugging at his hair. They stared at one another for a moment, unable to move. Behind them, the horse whinnied, drawing their attention to the weather around them.

"C'mon," he lifted them both to their feet, determined to keep her safe.

"Where are we going?" she asked him, following, the horse behind them.

"To catch up," he told her, kissing her hand.

-l-l-l-l-

The wagon was cozier than he could have ever imagined it to be, aided by Michonne's handiwork in stretching a tarp atop it. The bulk of this newfound warmth was supplied by the woman herself, nestled cozily beneath him. Underneath a pile of their combined blankets, Rick held his wife, nearly in disbelief.

"Describe him to me," he requested, nuzzling closer to her.

She laughed, tightening her arms around his neck. "He's a lot like you. A lot like both of his brothers too," she recounted. "A sweetheart at heart."

"A troublemaker?" Rick asked with a grin, already knowing the answer.

"Him and Judes have that in common," Michonne sighed good-naturedly. "They like to keep me on my toes."

A sadness filled him again, the six years he'd missed spreading between them. "Chonne, I'm so sorry," he began.

"Shhh," she kissed him. "It's not your fault." It did little to assuage him, but Michonne wouldn't hear another word. "We have time now," she promised him. "Time to catch you up on everything, time to go home. Just be with me, for a little bit."

That much at least, he could do for her. Rick kissed Michonne deeply, touching her until she trembled. She folded herself beneath him, tugging at him. They came together with a shared cry.

For the first time in six years, Rick felt at home.


	9. Book IX

"I missed this," Rick mused from her side.

Michonne glanced over at him, somewhat amused. "Missed what? Being tired? Hungry? Cold?" she teased, ribbing him gently. He was bundled beneath several blankets, his bearded face exposed just enough to allow him to see. Michonne was warm beneath her own coat, dressed more appropriately for the weather. A layer of snow had shrouded them, covering the land in a pristine white. It was beautiful, truth be told, and she would have liked nothing more than to sit in one place and just watch it. However, the risk of staying out in the cold outweighed her desire. Rick, no matter his protests to the contrary, was not at his best. She needed him home, warm in their bed and safe. The last few days had been an uneventful joy, filled only with the gentle snowfall and Rick's comforting presence. Neither Glenn nor Carl had made an appearance in days, but Michonne was not worried. She knew they were nearby somehow.

"Traveling with you. Anything with you, really." He grinned, looking boyish even beneath his graying hair.

Michonne moved closer to him though there was scarcely an inch between them. His arm crept out, wrapping around her waist and pulling her beneath his cocoon of blankets. Their horse continued onward, unaware or uncaring what the couple in the wagon was up to.

"I missed you too," it was the understatement of the century. Life with Rick in it had not been easy by any stretch of the imagination, but it had been more possible somehow. Survival had relinquished its place as her top priority and instead he and the family they had built together had taken its lofty place. If it hadn't been for their children, she would have followed him into that fire six years ago, for better or worse.

Rick held her in silence, his fingers rubbing familiar patterns into her skin beneath her clothing that her body responded to immediately. His hands had rarely left her since they'd been reunited. He fingered the denim of her borrowed shirt.

"Looks better on you, than it ever did on me," he whispered with a grin, pressing a kiss to the side of her face. His beard tickled, the thick bristles cold against her.

Unable to find words sufficient enough to express her emotions, Michonne instead leaned against him, allowing him to cradle her. For over half a decade, she'd missed this vulnerability. In the whole of this new world, Rick was the only person for whom she let her guard completely down.

The wagon rumbled up the frozen roads, the wheels catching on patches of ice. Michonne gripped Rick's arm in surprise as they took a momentary slide, nearly falling off the road. The horse paused, glancing over her shoulder at them as though to question why they were the only living things moving about on this cold winter day. She'd perked up considerably since getting regular meals and being covered with one of the blankets Michonne had brought with her. Michonne was grateful; they moved at three times the pace with the horse's assistance.

Rick made soothing sounds at the animal, releasing Michonne for a moment to tug gently at the reigns. The mare complied at once, rushing into the trees as though it was what she wanted to do all along.

"Rick, we're going to lose daylight." She was anxious to return to Alexandria, anxious about the herd somewhere in the area.

Rick, true to form, sensed her worries. "We know that herd ain't moving in freezing weather. We made great distance with the horse. We can be home in, what? A few days? But not if we get frozen to the road."

Michonne digested that, even as she made no move to stop him. "So we wait out this weather?"

"That's my suggestion," he smiled again beneath his beard, looking at her with so much fondness that her worries dissolved away.

"Then what do you suggest we do while we wait?" she asked him, an option already forming in her mind.

"Got a few things I could think of," Rick raised a brow.

-l-l-l-l-

"Rick," Michonne managed to exhale his name, even as her lover sought to take her apart with his affections. "Watch your ribs," she cautioned. He'd been so beaten up their first night together that Michonne had feared she'd hurt him.

"My ribs are fine," he chuckled, the vibrations tickling her stomach. He went back to busying himself with nipping and sucking at every bit of skin he'd exposed.

"I just don't want you getting hurt," she explained on a contented sigh. Her body arched beneath his, seeking out the heat.

"Wouldn't matter if I was bleeding out," Rick bit at her shoulder playfully. "I didn't have you for six years, love. Nothing's stopping me."

She giggled as her blood ran red hot. "Is it how you remember?" she asked, drawing her legs up. Any fears she had that they would be strangers now were erased almost immediately upon their reunion. Her body remembered Rick, craved him, just as her heart had every day over their long separation.

Rick pulled back to look at her, a hungry look in his eyes that she had missed. "Exactly how I remember it," he assured her. His hands, still strong, still rough despite the time passed, parted her legs reverently. He let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan. "You look like you missed me too," he clipped out in a throaty whisper.

"I did," she promised him, flushing under his heated gaze. She eyed him just as hungrily, cataloguing the changes and similarities in the lover that she knew so well. Whatever captivity had done to Rick, it hadn't diminished the lean muscles of his body. He was much tanner now than he'd been in Alexandria, much rougher looking than he'd been in the domesticity of their home. She was put in mind of those weeks they'd had on the road before coming to Alexandria. She'd anguished privately then about her growing attraction to her best friend, sure somehow that he did not feel the same way. Night after night, he'd laid just inches from her, the source of her great torment and joy, unaware that she was falling deeper and deeper into love with him.

"Tell me," he instructed, bending over her. He knelt before her, looking expectant.

Michonne smiled, reaching for him. "I missed touching you," she told him, running her hands over his arms and shoulders.

"What else?" he asked, falling forward. He settled his weight over her comfortably.

"You touching me," she whispered, taking his hands in her own. He wasted no time in cupping her, drawing desperate sounds from her.

He pressed his forehead against hers, letting out a shuddering breath. "Michonne, I missed you so much," he confessed.

She felt the moisture gather beneath both of their cheeks, even as she began to cry as well. She'd had their children, their friends, and their home to comfort her in his absence. "You're back now," she promised him, clutching him. She spread her knees wide, gasping as he entered her. He moved against her, his fingers digging into her waist as though he was afraid to release her.

"I'm home," he folded into her, kissing her deeply.

"You're home," she assured him, pulling him deeper.

-l-l-l-l-

The helicopter woke them up, startling the pair from their haze. Rick covered Michonne immediately, as she sat up, sword in hand.

"The helicopter," her inflection was deadly, her eyes narrowing as though she could see the aircraft through the top of their makeshift covered wagon.

"Michonne," he stilled her. There was something incredibly comforting in seeing that six years had done nothing to take the edge off of her. She was as deadly now as ever.

"Is that the helicopter that took you?" she asked.

Rick was not about to risk exposing them. "We're off the road, under the trees and it's snowing. They can't see us, even if it is them." Despite his calm words, Rick too searched for a weapon.

"Why are they looking for you?" Michonne asked, hastily getting dressed. Rick mirrored her, trying not to wince at his ribs.

"Let's not find out," Rick mused. He'd be damned if that helicopter was going to take him again, not when they were this close. Home was just a day or two away. Judith was waiting for him; RJ was waiting for them. He would not be parted from them again.

The helicopter sounds grew louder. Nearby, their horse nickered nervously. Cursing, Rick shoved on his shoes, hopping from the wagon to calm the animal. Michonne made a sound of alarm, sliding out behind him. Rick stroked the horse's head, staring up through the thick foliage of the trees around them.

"They're searching," Michonne observed, watching the helicopter circle in patterns. One hand was still locked around her sword, the other laid protectively over his arm. Rick reached for her, clasping her fingers with his own. "It's a good thing we are off the road."

He nodded, still tense. "They're moving off now," he whispered. The helicopter clearly could not see them. It streaked off into the darkness, the blades whirring furiously.

Michonne was not put at ease in the slightest. "It's heading towards Alexandria," she ground out, pacing restlessly.

It did not take long to realize that she was correct. Rick's mind filled with thoughts of their children, of their home.

"C'mon," he moved to hitch the horse back to the wagon. Michonne moved quickly, climbing up into the front. Rick worked as fast as he was able, heart hammering.

He snapped the reigns, rushing off into the night towards Alexandria, his wife beside him.

-l-l-l-l-

"Judy, wake up."

Judith sat straight up in bed, breathing heavily. She was not surprised at all to find Carl standing beside her.

"What's wrong?" she asked her big brother, already moving to get out of bed. She reached for the Colt mama said daddy had left her, checking to see it was loaded.

"Get RJ," Carl instructed. "Then go wake up Aaron. The helicopter is coming."

Judith nodded, her heart hammering as she rushed across the room to get her baby brother. RJ did not wake up easily, but she prodded him into moving, bundling him in his jacket.

"Where's mama?" she asked Carl, hurrying down the stairs. Aaron was just next door.

"With dad," Carl smiled just the slightest. "They'll be here soon, but you have to move. Make sure everyone is awake."

"They're not going to believe me," Judith pointed out. Adults never did, only mama.

"Who are you talking to?" RJ asked sleepily.

"Carl," she kissed her baby brother on the head, tugging him along behind her.

"He's back?" RJ looked around.

"How come he can't see you?" Judith asked Carl.

Their brother shrugged. "I don't make the rules, Jude."

Judith decided not to dwell on it. "How am I supposed to convince them?" she asked.

Carl grinned. "I'll take care of that. Just wake them up. Get them to the tower.

He disappeared, leaving his siblings to rouse Aaron and his daughter. He came, albeit reluctantly, armed and looking for the problem.

"Judith, what's going on?" Concern was rife in his voice.

Judith opened her mouth, searching for some excuse. She didn't need it. Somewhere, beyond the gate, a sound like an explosion went off.

"The hell?" Aaron pushed the kids behind him, sprinting off for the gate. "Watch your brother!" he instructed, running away.

Carl materialized as soon as Aaron left. "Get ready," he instructed.

"What'd you do?" Judith asked her big brother. Beside her, RJ was beginning to fall asleep, standing up in his boots.

"Glenn knocked over a tree," Carl shrugged.

"What are we getting ready for?" Judith squinted into the distance. It was cold tonight. She missed mama, missed curling up on the couch with her and RJ before bed.

"For dad to come home," Carl smiled.


	10. Book X

**A/N: Sorry for the delay! I just moved 3000 miles. I'm still getting settled, but it's almost finished. Apologies for any grammar or spelling issues. I'm working from my phone. Please let me know what you think!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

The helicopter pilot had forgone all pleasantries, choosing instead to land squarely outside of the walls of Alexandria, just in front of the main entrance. The occupants were clearly elsewhere, the cockpit empty, its engine cooling in the chilly winter weather. The brazen act did not shock Michonne or her beau. With a hurried kiss, the pair reluctantly separated, their plan beginning to take form.

Michonne walked through the gates of Alexandria to be greeted by an assembly of the community's leaders, all staring at her anxiously.

"The helicopter," she began immediately, crossing into the town on long strides. "It returned?"

Aaron rushed to meet her, a look of worried awe upon his face. "Michonne, I think you might be right. These people…" he looked around, reluctant to worry their residents. "They've been back every night. Circling, and circling…They finally landed and took off into the forest. We've got snipers on all sides, but, no sight of them. I think they're-"

"Looking for someone," Michonne nodded. She reached for the hilt of her sword instinctually. "My children?" she asked.

"At home, waiting for you," Aaron jogged to keep pace with her. "Michonne," he whispered urgently. "Did you—"

"Did I what?" she turned to look at her friend.

"Did you find him?" he asked tentatively. Aaron always spoke of Rick in a whisper, as though he was frightened the mere sound of his name would unhinge Michonne's fragile sanity.

She paused, allowing her friend and lieutenant to catch up with her. He watched her with wide eyes. "Aaron," she laid a hand on his shoulder. "I need to you to muster the militia. Send word to Hilltop and the Kingdom."

He inhaled sharply. "What should I say?"

"The end is coming," Michonne answered. "Be ready."

"I don't understand," Aaron queried.

"You will," she promised him. "Soon."

-l-l-l-l-

Someone had added a back gate some years ago. It looked well-used; the tracks in the mud beneath it were deep. It was through this opening that Rick slipped into his old town. The sniper posted was otherwise occupied, no doubt by Michonne on the other side. He could hear the lilt of her voice even from here. His ears had always been attuned for the sound of her. With difficulty, he turned his mind to the task at hand.

"Explain to me how this is going to work?" Rick whispered to Glenn.

From his side, his friend smirked. "No one's going to recognize you."

"How do you figure that?" Rick asked, tugging the hood of his jacket up higher against the chill.

"You've been dead for 6 years. People only see what they're expecting to see. Besides, have you _seen_ yourself?" Glenn laughed. "I'm amazed Michonne recognized you, let alone wanted to kiss you."

Rick chanced a glance at himself in the window of an empty house. The person staring back at him wore a long, cobalt gray beard. His hair was more salt than pepper, a mess of curls, matted and dirty.

"To be fair," Rick defended himself. "I didn't look that way before we started rushing for here." He'd at least been clean when they first reunited. A few days of hard travel had changed that.

"Maybe," Glenn acquiesced, "but you didn't look good either."

Rick scoffed but hurried on, refusing to be distracted by his own appearance. Even before the turn, he'd never given much care for whether or not he was handsome. Nevertheless, he made a mental note to find a razor and shower as soon as possible, for Michonne's sake.

He picked his way up the quiet, dark streets. The whole of the town was in the front near the gates, hanging on Michonne's every word. Michonne rarely raised her voice, but when she decided it was necessary, he always listened. He wondered what kind of leader she had become here, whether the rest had learned to see that side of her that he always cherished.

"Course they love her," Glenn answered. Rick started. Glenn laughed. "You talk to yourself, kind of mumble under your breath. I don't think you realize you do it."

"I didn't," Rick flushed.

Glenn shrugged. "You've been alone a long time." He paused a beat. "Might want to work on that, though."

Rick sped up, heading for home. He was surprised how easily his feet took him there, despite the years away, despite the changes. Alexandria had grown in his absence, the houses expanding and the trees, once thin and twig-like, now were behemoth, shading paved roads and small vegetable patches, fenced in yards, and a school.

The front door of the house was unlocked. Rick stepped through the threshold of the door, closing it and throwing the bolt. Sensation hit him at once, the smells, the sights, and the hollow echo of the empty rooms. Home was much as he left it, with a few tell-tell differences. A tricycle sat on the porch and a family portrait above the hearth. A photo of Carl and a young Judith now hung prominently along with another of Rick. He walked closer to view it beneath the glass, taking in the delicate charcoal lines of his own visage.

"There's a boy down the street who's a good artist. RJ and I gave it to mama for her birthday a while ago."

The sound of his daughter's heartbreakingly familiar voice brought tears to Rick's eyes immediately. He turned, crying openly at the sight before him. She looked so much like Lori, the same hair, the same cherubic shape of her face, the slope of her nose and mouth. But the expression—that was all her mother's. Standing with one hand on the hilt of her miniature sword, Carl's hat upon her head, his old Colt at her waist, Rick recognized his child at once for what she was.

"Judith," he fell to his knees, arms open.

She ran to him, hair trailing and hat billowing to the ground. Tiny arms found their way around his neck and squeezed. "Hi daddy," she whispered, her voice cracking.

Rick held her, heart pounding. She was so much bigger than he remembered but still so small, a delicate being, all skin and bones. Standing, he lifted her into his arms, disregarding her age, cradling her the way he had so many years ago.

"Hey!" a cry went up from the top of the stairs, an indignant small voice, brimming with anger. "Put down my sister!"

With a series of stomps, the little blur hit Rick full force, attempting to take him out by the knees.

"RJ, stop!" Judith's tone was firm but not unkind. She unwound herself from her father's grasp, turning instead to her brother. "That's daddy," she told the little boy.

The crying began in earnest again as Rick glanced into the face of the son he'd never met. Brown eyes stared back curiously out of a face that Rick recognized. Here was Michonne and himself, perfectly reflected in a child.

"Daddy?" he froze, squinting and unsure.

"Hey RJ," Rick all but croaked the words.

"You don't look like the picture," RJ observed, distrustful.

"He's just hairy," Judith explained. "That happens to grown up men."

"Is it going to happen to _me_?" RJ looked horrified at the prospect.

"Maybe," Judith considered this. "Your hair is more like mama's though."

"RJ," Rick drew his children's attention. "Can I hug you?"

The boy studied him for a moment more. Then he nodded. Rick caught him in his arms, memorizing the way he felt, trying to conjure up memories of the baby he never held, the toddler he never chased.

"Mama said she'd bring you back," RJ whispered into his father's whiskered cheek. "Are you going to stay?"

Rick pulled back, reaching for his daughter. One in each hand, he studied his children. "I'm not going anywhere."

-l-l-l-l-

The helicopter sat motionless beyond the gates as the sun began to fall. By Aaron's account, it had arrived early that morning, unleashing a small team of men and women who immediately dispersed, dipping into the surrounding foliage. A team had been assembled to look for them, but Alexandria's residents were frightened, unsure without their leader. Michonne stood before them now. She was high on the scaffolding of the wall, staring down at the world beyond.

Anne, better known to her as Jadis, was staring back, a petulant expression on her face that Michonne longed to wipe away. Her fingers itched to unsheathe her sword, desperate to put an end to the whole charade. It had been years since Michonne had been to war, but the familiar surge of adrenaline filled her now. At her back, Alexandria stood in wait.

Among them was Rick, bearded though clean, hiding in plain sight. Only Aaron recognized him for what he was. Though famous, Rick had passed into legend around the new communities, more myth than man. Those that knew him had long since dispersed, some to the afterlife, some to other communities, some to the wilderness. In a way, Rick had disappeared along with them.

His presence alone was comfort enough. Michonne resisted the urge to call him to her side, waiting instead, as Glenn and her son suggested. This would be all over soon and they would be a family again, whole and unchallenged.

"Jadis," Michonne called down with the air of neighbors discussing the weather, "How nice to see you again after all this time. We'd thought you died."

That smug expression grew, the woman below slanting her eyes up at Michonne. "No such luck, I'm afraid."

"What brings you home?" Michonne asked, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

"Oh, I think you know." Jadis did not look fooled.

"I figured it might have something to do with the helicopter in my front yard," Michonne's eyes darted to the aircraft.

"Quicker than a boat," Jadis shrugged. "Still, it took us a long while to find you."

"I've been here the whole time," Michonne spread her arms, gesturing to Alexandria.

"Not you." Jadis rolled her eyes. "I know he's in there. I know he's listening."

"Who?" Michonne asked. Behind her, her people began to stir.

"Steady, mom," Carl materialized beside her, his voice a low warning. Michonne stilled herself.

Jadis continued on as though Michonne had not spoken. "He thinks he's been held prisoner. He thinks we are the enemy. He doesn't know."

"Who doesn't know what?" Michonne asked.

"That it's bigger than him. It's bigger than this family he thinks he needs. This is for the good of the world. He could end it all."

"What are you talking about?" Michonne grit out.

"A cure," Jadis smiled. "Hiding all along inside of him. Inside of Rick."

Emotion filled Michonne at once, a heady mixture of endless questions and aflocker of hope. "Suppose I were to believe you," she said loudly, "why would I trust a woman who stole a man from his family?"

"I saved him," Jadis hissed.

"Then you just kept him?" Michonne rose a brow.

"He wasn't in any hurry to get back to you," Jadis lied.

"Oh? Then why are you searching for him here?" Michonne asked.

A tense silence spread, broken only by the shuffling of feet.

"Rick isn't here," Aaron spoke up. "I suspect he'd want to be here to greet you himself if he was."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Michonne shrugged.

"We could help you," a woman beside Jadis shouted. "We have supplies, medicine—"

"Shush!" Jadis cut her off. She angled her face at Michonne. "Give him to us, or we will destroy this town," she said coldly.

"You would kill hundreds for a cure?" Michonne asked.

"Thousands," Jadis responded.

"I told you," Carl whispered to Michonne.

Michonne simply nodded. "Come in then, and find him yourself," she said.

Jadis smiled. "Open up," she challenged.

Michonne started down the stairs, chancing a prefutory glance at Rick. He smiled slightly beneath his beard.

-l-l-l-l-

" _She's coming for him," Carl said. "But that's not important."_

 _"I'll handle Jadis," Michonne vowed. "What should we know?"_

 _"She's calling the shots right now," Carl said. "They think she's a saint. You kill her, you make her a martyr."_

 _"So we expose her," Rick grunted. "Shouldn' be too hard."_

 _"She's fooled this group since the beginning. She fooled Alexandria for a while." Carl cautioned. "But you're her weak point, Dad."_

 _Michonne flinched but stayed largely stoic. Rick reached for her hand. "So what's the plan?"_

 _"Lure her in, frustrate her. When she shows herself, end it."_

 _"Carl," Michonne looked at her son, "you said this could be the end of everything. What did you mean."_

 _Carl smiled. "They have a cure. Dad's the key. Won't get rid of the walkers, but it can stop new ones. Jadis convinced them that they need to keep Dad just in case. But it's ready to go. They only need a new leader."_

 _Rick_ _and Michonne stared at one another in shock. "I didn't know," Rick said._

 _Michonne laughed, her mind racing. "The famous Rick Grimes, even now, huh?" she teased._

 _Rick opened his mouth to retort but was cut off. Glenn appeared a few yards off, his expression bright._

 _"Maggie's ready," he announced. "It's time."_

 _-l-_ l _-l-l-_

The gate squeaked on well-oiled hinges. Michonne stood, sword in hand on the other side.

Jadis stared back. "It hasn't changed much," she observed.

"More than you think," Michonne said. She stepped back, "Come in."

Head high _, Jadis_ crossed into Alexandria _._


	11. Book XI

**A/N: I'm afraid that here is where this story must come to an end. My apologies for the delays as I settled into a new city. I hope you all enjoy! Please let me know what you think!**

* * *

The lock squealed as Aaron hastened to throw it, sealing Alexandria against the outside world. If Jadis felt any trepidation at entering her old home she showed no sign of it. She strode forward confidently, as though she was here for a visit.

"It looks good," she observed, eyes roving down the manicured streets.

"You sound surprised," Michonne said, her eyes on the woman in front of her.

Jadis offered a shrug. "I thought without Rick…" she said, trailing off, lips curled in a cruel smirk.

Michonne tilted her head in a imitation of her husband. "Tell me," she began coolly, "all of these years, did he ever bother to look twice at you?"

Jadis' smile cracked for the first time, anger burning brightly behind her eyes. "Over half a decade and he never tried to leave; never—"

"No?" Michonne asked, feigning innocence. "Then why are you here at my gate, searching for him?"

A murmur went through the crowd like a ripple, the low sound of laughter echoing through the otherwise quiet town. It settled over Jadis like a whip to the face. She turned bright red, going blotchy in the midday sun.

"You stupid woman," she grit out through her teeth, anger coloring her every syllable. Around them, Alexandria began to mobilize, the laughter transforming into an angry hiss.

"Watch your mouth," Aaron colored with uncharacteristic rage, his fists clenching.

"You don't get it," Jadis raised her voice. "All this, all that out there—" she brandished a finger, jabbing it beyond the wall. "It could all be over. All over with one person. And just because you _love_ him, you would sacrifice the world."

"Rick isn't here," Aaron spoke up again, shaking his head.

"You've had him for six years and you couldn't figure a cure out?" someone shouted. "You didn't take his blood or anything?"

Jadis turned, wildly looking for the culprit. It did not matter. More people were joining the fray.

"You kidnapped him! You could have sent us word that he was alive!"

"You held him against his will—"

"And lost him! He could be dead—"

"This is your fault! You could have studied him here!"

"You could have told us!"

"—let us think he was dead…"

Wave after wave the cry crested over, Alexandria buzzing angrily like a nest of wasps.

"You'd be wise to leave," Michonne extended her last olive branch, her mind on the children of Alexandria, of sparing them exposure to further violence.

"Not without Rick," Jadis grunted, stepping closer to Michonne.

This time Aaron did step in, tugging the woman away from Alexandria's leader. "You're leaving," he proclaimed forcefully. Someone rushed for the gate, tugging it open. From the other side, her people stared back, weapons in hand.

"Let her go!" one of them instructed, lifting his gun.

Alexandria mobilized, ready as always for war. Michonne lifted her hand. A hush fell over them. "Aaron," she said calmly to her friend. "Let her go."

Reluctantly, he complied, looking wearily at Michonne. "Be careful," he cautioned under his breath.

"Jadis," Michonne stepped towards her adversary. "Six years ago, you stole my husband, taking him away from his town, his children, his entire family without a word," the words left a horrible taste in her mouth as she formed them, years of rage and loss culminating at once. "Now you come to my gate with an army and you threaten us, screaming about a cure you have no proof of—"

"I do not have to offer you proof," Jadis interrupted.

"You're right," Michonne drew her sword. "There is nothing you could offer me to repay the injustice you have done to me, to my children. Consider yourself lucky to leave here alive." She pointed with her blade. "Go."

Jadis smiled, a perverse delight spreading across her face. With a deep breath, she let out a shout, some unintelligible sound. At once, her men outside the fence began to move, rushing for Alexandria. Jadis made a grab for Michonne.

She greatly underestimated the warrior woman's speed. With a flick of her blade, she severed Jadis' hand cleanly from her wrist. Her scream of agony echoed through the crowd. Alexandria mobilized, weapons at the ready, standing in formation behind Michonne. Jadis' men stopped in their tracks, nervous and unsure.

"Leave! Now!" Michonne yelled, her inflection deadly.

"Kill her!" Jadis screamed over her. Her eyes had gone bloodshot, her face ashen.

One of her men stepped forward, raising his gun. Shakily, he pointed it between Michonne's eyes.

-l-l-l-l-

Rick moved quickly, unable to watch anymore from a distance. In the midst of the fray, no one spared a glance at him. It was almost funny to listen to them yell about him, demand answers, even as he stood among them. Perhaps Glenn had been right about the facial hair.

The humor faded when Jadis threatened his wife.

Rick saw Michonne defend herself, saw the men rush forward, saw Alexandria respond. A murderous rage filled him, burning bright, 6 years of wrongs manifesting themselves into a blinding fury. Disregarding his own lack of weapon, Rick hit Jadis' guard as hard as he could. They went down in a pile, clawing and hollering. The gun caught between them, the metal pressing beneath his ribcage. It discharged, the sound deafening. Fear filled him, memories of Carl being shot, of members of his family dying. He rolled, striking out, feeling the man's face crumple beneath his fist with a sickening smack.

Jadis began to scream, a high-pitched wail. Rick felt the warmth of her blood catch beneath his free hand. He slipped, crashing headlong into her guard. A pitiful masculine cry joined Jadis'. Rick paid them no mind. Instead, he shed his now blood-stained jacket. "Michonne," he called frantically for his wife, chest-heaving.

The gasp was audible as it spread through both sides of the crowd.

"I told you!" Jadis let our a triumphant roar, even as the color faded rapidly from her face.

Rick stepped over her, crossing to his wife, his eyes roaming every inch of her. "You're ok?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she smiled gently at him, reaching for his hand. Rick pulled her to him.

"Rick," Aaron grinned, his face lighting up. "Holy shit. You're back?"

"I'm back," he nodded. Hundreds of eyes were on him, some reflecting recognition, some shock, some confusion.

"Why didn't you say something?" Aaron asked, bemused.

"We had to find out why they took me. Why they were hunting me down," Rick glanced accusingly at the group of men. One by one, they withered under his cold stare.

"You're the key to everything, Rick," Jadis exhaled, her voice failing. "I knew. I always knew…" she smiled up at him.

"I'm the cure?" Rick barely spared the woman a glance. He'd seen enough of her over the last years.

One of the braver of her men spoke up. "Something in your blood. They've tested it. The bites don't transform our test subjects anymore. And the dead, they don't come back."

"My blood alone?" Rick asked. No one had mentioned it, not in all those long years.

"Others have come close, but it wasn't until recently that we perfected it. We need you. We need more blood. You need to return with us."

"No." Michonne and Rick spoke in unison, the syllable cracking through the air like a whip. Rick's breath frosted in his beard, the cold biting at his skin. At his feet Jadis was dying but he could not bring himself to care.

"You would sacrifice the world?" the man asked, aghast.

"He's given you enough." Michonne intervened, putting herself between him and Rick.

"You need blood?" Rick asked.

"A pint. Maybe two." The man spoke.

Rick stepped forward, pacing until he was right in the man's face. He knew he looked wild now, all curly hair, and tanned face, a far cry from who he'd been in captivity. "Then you take it here. And you leave."

His adversary swallowed thickly, his eyes darting to Jadis. "And her?" he asked, voice cracking.

Rick glanced over his shoulder at Michonne. His wife looked down at the woman bleeding out at her feet.

"Do what you want with her," Michonne announced. "As long as we never see her again."

"No!' Jadis cried. "Rick, Rick—" she scrambled towards him. "You know why I did what I did. You understand."

Rick did not deign to answer. Instead, it was Michonne. "You took him. You knew nothing of cures, nothing of what hid in his blood. You only knew that you wanted him. So you stole him." Anger had left her tone now. All that remained was the harsh truth. "And even then, even after years, he did not want you." Michonne crossed towards Rick, resuming her place at his side. "So go now, with what's left of you," Michonne brandished her sword. "Or I will take another piece."

"It's a deal," the man spoke up over Jadis' complaints. "We finish the vaccine and we'll leave."

"Not before we all get it," Rick gestured. "And the surrounding communities."

"That'll take months," he protested.

"Then you better get started," Rick told him. He looked towards the gates. Understanding at once, Aaron crossed towards them. They squeaked shut, the lock slamming closed.

With a few quiet commands from Michonne, Alexandria disarmed the small band. The men who had come by helicopter stood caught in a tight circle, trapped.

"You will leave when you finish it," Michonne said pleasantly.

Wisely, they did not protest. Jadis, however, fought with her last few breaths.

"Rick," she panted, collapsing flat onto the ground. "I—"

The last of her proclamation died with a shuddering rattle.

Rick turned to his wife, clasping her hand tightly in his. At once, he felt himself pressed into a hug, the whole of Alexandria surging towards him at once, all well-wishes, and cries of delight. At the center of it all, Rick clung to Michonne, unwilling to let go.

He was finally home.

-l-l-l-l-

"There," Michonne soothed, wiping a warm towel across Rick's face. "I can see you now." She paused to inspect him, her thumb tracing patterns across the smooth skin on his now beard-free cheeks.

"Better?" he asked, smiling up at her.

"The kids will recognize you at least," she teased, toying with his freshly-trimmed curls.

Rick tugged at her hips, coaxing her into his lap. "And you?" he asked, cupping her chin. "Do you recognize me?"

She settled against him. Inside their bathroom, the mirrors steamed from the hot water of the tub behind them. They had three years together here, spent them together weathering the storm. It was here they held one another when Carl died, here they whispered their fears, their hopes, their dreams for a better future. In the master suite of this house, it was he and Michonne against the world. He never thought he would see it again.

"Let's see," Michonne considered him, turning his head this way and that. "You've gotten more grey," she appraised. "Might have a wrinkle or two more," she leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his, the gesture so familiar that he teared up. "But you're still my Rick," she finished, kissing him.

He held her to him, cherishing the closeness. Jadis was gone, buried somewhere outside the walls. His prison was long behind him, thousands of miles away. And soon, very soon, their would be a cure for them all. His children would live in a world of only the living.

"Michonne," he breathed her name, unable to express the torrent of emotion rolling through him.

"C'mon," she coaxed, pulling him to his feet. "They're waiting."

Dutifully he followed her into their bedroom. Judith and RJ were seated on the bed, eagerly peering at their parents. Beside them, Carl sat as well, his image flickering, his smile glowing.

"They wouldn't move," Michonne explained, looking not at all put out.

Rick grinned, taking a running leap that propelled him onto his bed and into the center of his family. Judith was on him at once, then his youngest son. Michonne joined, her curling her body around all of them. Carl smiled at them all, fading in the low light.

"You can't stay?" Rick asked his eldest regretfully.

Carl laughed. "Appearing to you was kind of a special, one-time deal. But I'm never far from you. I promise."

Rick reached for him, catching Carl's hand in his own. Carl squeezed.

"I love you," the statement was for every soul in that room.

"Love you too, Dad," Carl said. "And you mom," he blew Michonne a kiss. She caught it, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I love you too," she promised, holding her family closer to her.

With a laugh and a sound like a flame extinguishing, Carl faded away.

"He's still around" Judith said quietly. "He never goes far."

Rick kissed her forehead, then RJs, settling into the quiet of the room.

"Well?" Michonne reached for his hand across their children. "What now?" she asked.

Rick took it, linking their fingers. "How about we just start by sleeping. We can handle the rest tomorrow."

As the light faded from Alexandria and the stars glowed in the winter sky, the Grimes' family huddled warm and safe in their home, together at last.


End file.
